


Hunger

by Hyperactive_Avian



Category: Bravely Default (Video Game) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Bravely Default Spoilers, Demons, Horror, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2019-07-24 17:59:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16180286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyperactive_Avian/pseuds/Hyperactive_Avian
Summary: Originally posted on FanFiction.netHe was a beast, a barely restrained attack dog. It gnawed at him, howling and screaming, begging him to feed. The hunger spared no one, not even himself. Only an old friend could restrain them, for he was the only one to walk away from its all-consuming maw alive. Warning: Will contain spoilers for Bravely Default, and is Rated M for gore.





	1. Give and Take

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in the summary, this was originally posted on FanFiction. I would appreciate constructive criticism, especially since this is my first attempt at writing horror. Either way, I hope you enjoy having a read!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wanted, NEEDED, him to take it.  
> He was giving up freedom in one form, but gaining it in another. Now, all he needed to do was convince him to take it...

1\. Give and Take

"Take it." He insisted, placing the pendant on his desk, giving him little room to argue.  
"Are you truly certain you want me to have it?" He asked, again. He needed to _know_. Why was he giving him the one thing that could control his freedom?  
"Please. I insist."  
"But surely-" He stopped when his gaze turned as cold as the gnawing frost he commanded. "You're the only one I trust enough to not abuse it, Templar." His voice was like ice, with a deeper darkness lurking beneath; if Braev didn't take the pendant willingly, he'd make him have it.  
Braev let out a sigh.  
"Very well, then. I will take it. In exchange, I wish to know why you are so insistent on me having it. It is the only thing that has any degree of control over you; surely you'd want to keep it for yourself?"

He let out a cold laugh, the shadows around them warping and writhing into howling maws and cold leers at the sound of his joyless laughter.  
"I don't trust myself." He admitted, brushing a lock of his hair away from his pale face, gaze fixated on the candle

_His new friend despised the light and its warmth. He stayed away from the fireplace, remaining in the shadows, and didn't drink the mug of hot chocolate his mother had given him, only accepting it because he had told him it was rude to reject the kind offer._

that sat on Braev's desk. Braev silently urged him to continue with a slight inclination of his head.  
"I feel this constant hunger, Templar. It's foul, ravenous. Some days I can barely control myself, so I hide myself away from people." He let out a sigh, hiding his gaze beneath the shadow of his hair. "Even then I still find myself devouring the travellers that cross my path. I know it's from my mother's side of the family; she was one of the demons who sparked the legend of the Wendigo, after all. This hunger is in my blood."  
"And you want me to stop you from devouring people?" Braev asked gently, knowing the being that sat before him could misinterpret his words if he wasn't careful with his tone. _They_ could be thanked for that.  
"Not exactly; I'd go mad and become uncontrollable if I was denied human flesh every time I felt the hunger." He raised his head to meet Braev's gaze; the antlers that extended from his head reached upwards, grasping at the air with their long tines, the shadows they cast gnawing at the walls. "I gave you that pendant because I know you'd stop me if I found myself unable to control my own instincts; it's linked to the Demon Band, remember?" Braev didn't want to think about what that Band could do to him.

_The boy whined as the band around his neck sent courses of painful magic through his body, the face of an Orthodoxy cardinal giving him a cruel glare as he writhed and sobbed, begging for the pain to stop. He couldn't do anything but stand and watch as one of the men he trusted tortured his friend._

"Of course I remember." He replied, gaze fixed on the band

_"I think it's like those collars they put on disobedient dogs."_

around his neck. It was usually hidden by his robes, and its sickly colour, a mixture of deep purple and black, reminded Braev of bruising. "That is why I didn't want to take it; I'd have thought you wouldn't want anyone having control over you like that again."  
He gave Braev a sad smile, whatever light in his eyes fading at the memories of what they did.  
"You're too kind to a beast like me, Templar. But then again, your kindness is why I decided to give the pendant to you. Like I said before, you won't abuse its abilities."

Braev crossed his arms over his chest, the chair creaking slightly as his weight shifted. "Of course I wouldn't; I look after Eternia, and all those within it." He gave a thoughtful hum.  
"Even if I devour

_the sound of flesh being torn from bone and eaten by the frail boy_

the people within your country?"  
"It's like you said before; you can't control your hunger, therefore I don't hold any ill will towards you." When he raised a brow in response, a criticism of his view on his lips, Braev elaborated, "Is it morally and legally right to hold someone accountable for something they have no control over if they took all precautions to stop anything from happening? For example, would I blame a lycanthrope for infecting someone even though they ensured they were in a secure area that no one would visit? Should they be blamed if, by a freak chance, someone did visit the area they were in? Both parties, the infector and the infectee, are not responsible; it was sheer dumb luck they stumbled across each other, therefore neither truly hold any blame."  
The Templar shifted slightly, settling his blue gaze on the demon who sat before him. "I believe your circumstances are remarkably similar to that scenario. As a result, I will only use this pendant's restraining abilities when I feel the absolute need to."  
He bowed in thanks, antlers brushing against the desk. Their tines, long and sharp like fangs, burrowed into the wood. When he raised his head, a light frost had gathered where his antlers touched,

_"I've never been hugged before. I end up nearly freezing people to death when they try. It's a defence mechanism, I think, but I wish it would stop."_

the shadows on the desk dancing and twisting amongst the cold.

"Thank you, Templar."  
"Due to the nature of your request, I give you permission to address me by my first name." He flashed him a smile that was all teeth but no malice, the first sign of genuine joy he had seen the demon display in years. "Then I insist you do the same, Braev."  
"Of course." The Templar studied him for a moment, frowning slightly, noting on what appeared to be a steadily healing case of sunburn across his face. "You don't have to go back there." He blinked at him in reply, clearly confused. "You're a being of darkness and cold; surely working in such a warm area will affect your health?"   
"Are you suggesting I work for you?" He frowned at him, unsure of what the Templar was planning.  
"I am. Your reputation as an assassin precedes you, and I need someone who can travel quickly between countries to deliver messages or take care of anything my usual contacts wouldn't be able to. Your abilities meet that criteria, and working for me would also ensure you don't fall ill through overexposure to heat."  
He gave a soft hum, leaning back in his chair. His claws tapped out a steady rhythm

_the sound of claws scraping against bone, flesh being torn from the body_

on the chair's arm as he pondered Braev's offer. "I suppose I can take you up on your offer. I will need to let my other employers know about my sudden change in job, of course."  
"Take all the time you need."  
"Thank you." He extended a hand towards him,

_a blood-soaked boy offering him the still-quivering heart of a cardinal with an expectant and innocent grin_

a genuine smile, not the cold mimicry he usually wore, on his face. Braev took his hand and returned his grin.  
"I believe I will enjoy working with you, Ciggma."


	2. Embraced in Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems that the Templar knew him better than he initially thought. Why else would he give him something so useful?

He stared at the package that the guard had given him. It was lightweight, and wrapped in black cloth. A note was attached to it.  
' _Your true appearance is too recognisable,'_ it read, _'so I had this made for you; your work is going to be risky, and this will help you remain anonymous.'_  
The handwriting, he quickly realised, was Braev's. Naturally, this was going to be an outfit of sorts.  
_But what type of clothing is this?_ He wondered, trying to figure out what type of clothing would form such an odd shape.

_"What's this?" He asked, eyeing an article of clothing he'd never seen before._  
_"It's a kimono." His friend replied, moving over to stand beside him, the kimono boy, his friend's friend, still fixated on a particularly elaborate piece. "Want to try it on?"_  
_He nodded in reply._  
_The fabric was soft and swished around as he moved, but it didn't restrict his movement. Plus, it was pleasantly cool to wear, so it wasn't uncomfortable for him like most of the clothing worn in Eternia.  
_ "Wow! This is

A sharp knock on the door brought him out of his memories.

He was not expecting the small girl he'd seen earlier to be floating outside his room. Her ever-present caretaker, he noticed, was nowhere to be found.  
"Can I… help you?" He asked, curious as to what the girl would want from him. Idly, he noted on the metallic, rotten scent that surrounded her. He knew the smell well. Death.  
She eyed him for a moment, arms folded across her chest, before a wide grin broke over her face.  
"I want you to help me."  
"Help you with what, exactly?" She giggled at him in reply, his response apparently amusing to her, as she fidgeted with one of the teardrop-shaped ornaments that hung from her hair.  
"There have been reports of conspirators hoping to overthrow the Duchy." She explained, her expression turning sour. "I don't care much for the Templar's lofty ideals, but the Duchy needs to stay intact if the Orthodoxy is to be crushed." _Vicious little thing, aren't you?_ "And that's where you come in, Khint."  
"Is it now?" He raised a brow at her, his voice and expression neutral, never betraying his actual thoughts. He didn't like her much; she reeked of sickness and madness and putrid magic, a stench he had learned to loathe. Nothing good ever happened to those who carried that particular scent, as they were too unhinged to be saved, and he didn't want to be around when something did.  
"Yep. We need you to gather information on them and bring them into custody." She paused for a moment, before adding as what was possibly an afterthought, "Alive, preferably."  
"Was this ordered by the Templar?"  
"Huh?" Her confused expression said everything. The order was most likely _not_ given by Braev. It appeared she decided to be truthful upon noticing the irritated look he was giving her, if her shift in expression was any indication; angering any demon, even one that was technically kept on a lead like him, was a bad idea, after all. "Well… truthfully, no. This was _supposed_ to be Alternis' job."  
"Then I have no interest in the task."  
"What? Why?!"

_The woman's screeching was getting on his nerves. Couldn't she just understand that he didn't_ want _to do her damn laundry?! He was a demon, not a servant! He could feel the dull ache in his stomach blossom into a stabbing pain. He was hungry, so, so_ hungry _. A small bite wouldn't hurt her_ too _much, would it…?_

"I obey the Templar, and the Templar only."  
She fumed for a while, screeching at him for not even being willing to listen to her reason of dumping Alternis' job on him, and ranting and raving and threatening him with her "dark rituals", but she eventually got the message that he was not going to change his mind.  
" _Fine_ then." She huffed, glaring at him. "I'll get Alternis to do it as intended; at least _he_ actually listens to my reasoning." And with that last remark, she floated off, grumbling under her breath and taking the decaying scent with her.  
Sighing, he shut the door and turned his attention to the gift Braev had given him. Carefully, he unwrapped the cloth, which he quickly realised was a cloak, from around the object. He was quite surprised by what he found.

It was a mask in the shape of a canine's skull. Picking it up, rather shocked to find it seemed to be made from bone, the jaw fell open, another note falling out from between its fangs.  
' _The cloak and mask are were custom-made for your needs.'_ Braev's note informed him. _'You can thank Yulyana for the specifics.'_  
He made a mental note to do so, but couldn't help but grimace slightly at the thought of thanking the perverted sage.  
_'Once you've adjusted them to your liking, come see me in the Council's Chamber. I have a job for you.'_  
Setting the note down, he picked the mask back up. Turning it around in his hands, feeling the dips and grooves in the bone, he slipped it onto his face.

It was… strange. The mask functioned like an extension of his head, with the jaw moving whenever his mouth did, but it wasn't _his_ head, just a mimicry of it.

_The restraining helmet they had forced on him made it difficult to understand what was going on around him. He was scared, and just wanted to see his friend again. A hollow, echoing wail emerged from his mouth as the restraints dug painfully into his head and throat; why are they still doing this?_

He was surprised to find that the mask didn't reduce his field of vision, nor did it impact his hearing, like he expected it to. Turning to the cloak, he picked it up.  
The fabric was soft, but flowed easily, making it ideal for comfort and movement. Slipping it around his shoulders, he wasn't too surprised to feel magic activate in the fabric, preventing it from being removed from around his body by outside forces. Pulling up the hood, he felt the same magic attach it to the mask. He could also feel the familiar comfort of dark and ice magic woven into the cloak, which prevented him from overheating and also enabled him to use his abilities easier in environments he wasn't exactly built for. Although he was still somewhat against the idea of thanking him (the man was a notorious pervert, after all), he found himself grateful for what the sage (Yulyana. His name is _Yulyana_ ) had done for him.  
Testing his movement, he was pleased to find he was completely unrestricted, as if the cloak had become a part of his body, not a covering of it. In a way, it acted like his natural "body", never having one stable form and constantly flowing and shifting, and was something he appreciated. Maintaining his human form could be so _exhausting_ , so the cloak reduced the need for him to maintain it.

Glancing over to the mirror, he found himself liking what he saw. Except for the stark whiteness of the skull emerging from the blackness, he was practically a near-formless shadow. The mask's sockets were a black void, save for a pair of red orbs that stared out of the two pits, and when the jaw opened he was pleased to see that the bottom half of his face, which should be visible according to simple logic, was replaced by a black abyss.  
His garb, wrapping him in the embrace of shadows and hiding him from cruel eyes, reminded him of the boy, an amalgamation of darkness and sharp edges that cocooned and nurtured a rabid anger within, a combination that was as merciless as it was volatile.

Experimenting with the movement of the mask's jaw, he found himself grinning when the bone jaws clamped

_The woman's neck put up very little resistance, her scream turning into a sickly gurgle as her airways were crushed by his maw, her eyes wide with terror as her body fought for breath.  
_ _It was to be a satisfying meal; he felt the hunger and the cold agree._

over the shaft of a spear and snapped it in two with a pleasing _crunch_. Clearly, the strength a demon possessed had been taken into account when crafting the garb.

_Now, then_ . He hummed mentally after stashing the broken spear in a corner, _time to pay Braev a visit. I have a job to do._


	3. The Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something was causing the cold that followed them, and that something was killing their men. The main question, however, is what will it do next?

There was a noticeable sense of unease amongst the Sky Knights. Something was attacking and killing their men. No one knew what it was, nor how it had gotten a hold of them. Heinkel ordered everyone to stay in at least a group of three, lest the killer return, and increased the number of guards on lookout duty.  
It struck again a few nights later. Five guards were stationed on the balcony of Lontano Villa, and three of them vanished without a trace. There was obvious evidence of a struggle, as blood was splattered across the floor, but that wasn't what concerned them the most. What was truly disturbing about the scene were the long, ragged claw marks that raked along the stone walls, and the aching chill that hung in the air.  
The two surviving guards were left traumatised after their ordeal. Heinkel tried to question them about what they saw, but found them unable to answer. It wasn't that they _wouldn't_ answer, it was because they _couldn't_ ; upon further investigation Heinkel found, much to his horror, that the duo's tongues had been torn out, rendering the two silent.

Edea suppressed a shiver. It had gotten incredibly cold around the Villa, colder than the blizzards that howled around Eternia, and even the raging infernos Ominas conjured couldn't fend them off. She was seriously considering just packing up and heading to the ruins of Centro Keep; she was stationed there with Ominas anyway, so her decision to move there ahead of time wouldn't be treated with suspicion. Sighing to herself, she pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, desperately trying to fend off the chill, watching as Ominas, in a fit of unhinged emotion, produced flames hot enough to melt one of the Villa's walls. On second thought, maybe she was better off staying with Heinkel...

She let out a relieved sigh. Finally, _finally_ , they were away from the Villa, and consequently the unnatural cold that seemed to cling to it. Ominas, Edea noted, seemed much happier, too. He had yet to ignite something when lashing out at someone, and his stutter, which got worse when he was stressed or anxious, wasn't as pronounced.  
"I have reports that the V-v- _vestal_ is still in Caldisla." Ominas announced suddenly over dinner. "Barras and Holly are..." The Black Mage trailed off, instead choosing to fidget with his cutlery. He heaved a sigh. When he spoke, his voice, surprisingly, seemed thick with emotions Edea couldn't quite place, which had her wondering if he was a heartless as he made himself out to be. "Well, I don't really know. Th-there's evidence they were attacked by the lake to the s-s-south, but we can't find them at all."  
Worried murmurs broke out over the table. Edea could feel the unease that hung in the air like a thick fog, and she suddenly felt a little bit nauseous. _Is the one who attacked those guards responsible for this?_  


It had gotten cold again. Normally, this wouldn't be surprising; rarely used keeps often lacked heating, after all, but the cold felt... off. Edea couldn't shake the feeling she was being watched, either, with meaningless whispers from nothing seemingly following her, and objects seeming to move from where she last put them, and she found herself checking corners and showed spots for any possible intruders.  
Ominas was no help, as he'd become incredibly disagreeable again, which, coupled with his disliking for anything of the opposite sex and his habit of setting anything that annoyed him alight, made him a hassle to spend long periods of time around.  
They had just come back from Caldisla, demanding they hand over the Vestal, but Edea had forced Ominas to withdraw back to Centro Keep when his methods, consisting of viciously setting homes ablaze and barking out demands, became too extreme for her. Edea loved Eternia, and was aware that her father was doing what he believed to be best, but she doubted she would remain with the Sky Knights for much longer if the rest of them turned out to be as unstable and lacking in remorse as the Black Mage.  
She was holed up in the Keep with Ominas and a few guards, the only clear sounds being their quiet conversation and the crackling of torches. Ominas was clearly still seething from being forced to withdraw, as his attention was focused entirely on the burning torches that lined the walls, a maniacal gleam in his eye. Edea had quickly learned not to bother him when he got like this, as he nearly hit her with a Fire spell once when she disturbed him. He had eventually apologised for it, later, but the incident stuck with her, and she refused to approach the Mage when he was in this particular mood ever since.  
The unnatural chill still hung in the air, a whisper ghosting past her ear. Edea shuddered and kept a close watch on the darker corners of the room.  


Suddenly, something in the Black Mage _snapped_. Edea wasn't sure what it was, but she had a feeling the sound of a door bursting open had something to do with it. One minute, the guards were prepared for battle, swords drawn and bows poised to release a poisoned arrow, and the next they were nothing more than smouldering bodies, the stench of smoke and fire and burnt flesh clinging to the air.  
Ominas wore a deranged grin. The rode he channelled his magic through was directed at those who disturbed him, an incantation to incinerate them undoubtedly on his tongue, but Edea wasn't concerned about that. No, she was more concerned about how casually Ominas incinerated some of his countrymen.  
"Madness... this is just... _wrong_." She murmured to herself as she worked up the courage to confront the unhinged Mage. Taking a deep breath and steeling her resolve, she stepped forward. "Black Mage Ominas Crowe!"  
The sound of his full title seemed to snap Crowe - he was not longer Ominas, the crazy but somewhat likeable pyromaniac of a Black Mage to her - out of whatever madness had taken over him.  
"Wh-wh- _what_?!" He sounded less like a commanding officer, and more like a whining child.  
"This cannot continue! You just slaughtered our _countrymen_! I swear by my name that I _will_ stop you!" Ominas studied her for a moment, brow drawn into a tight frown, before his mouth twisted into a fierce scowl.  
"Turning t-t-traitor, are you? You realise you'll make your father a l- _laughingstock_ , don't you?"  
Edea, her mind and judgement clouded with rage, scowled back at him. The air seemed to cool slightly, but both Mage and soldier were too worked up to notice.  
"This has _nothing_ to do with my father, _Crowe_!" She spat out his name with enough venom to make the man flinch. "This is my _own_ decision, and I say that you go against every value that's important to me! I'll see to it that you and your savage ways are put to an end!" She knew those words would cost her. She was now a traitor to not only her country, but also her father, and both were known for their viciousness towards traitors.  
Ominas seemed unable to form a correct sentence, sputtering in an attempt to speak, his cheeks red with barely-contained rage. Face contorting into a twisted sneer, Ominas raised the rod at her, unstable magic crackling around them.  
" _Fi-_ "  


Edea couldn't think. Her mind had turned blank. Crowe was dying. Crowe was _dying_. _Crowe_ was _dying_. The ice had come from seemingly nowhere, impaling the Mage. It speared through his torso and limbs, suspending him in the air like a twisted crucifix, and through the back of his head and out of his mouth. Sickly choking sounds emerged from his throat. It was clear that he could barely breath, let alone speak. Was he calling for help? Or was he crying out in pain? Edea's mind struggled to comprehend the scene before her, but one question dominated her thoughts: _Who, or_ what _, did this?_ The answer, she would find, would come too quickly for her liking.

It emerged silently from the shadows behind her, a shiver crawling down her spine. She didn't know what this thing was, nor where it had even come from, but a horrifying cold appeared to emanate from it. Like a ghost, it drifted over to Ominas' struggling body. Leaning down, a clawed hand, jet black, rippling and shifting like water and embers, yet curiously solid, emerged from the shadows that made up its body. It easily silence the struggling Mage, snapping his neck and crushing his airways with an audible _crunch_. Edea wanted to be sick. She wanted to run, to scream, to _do something_. Her feet seemed stuck to the floor, and when she tried to scream, all that came out was a choked, terrified sob, A pair of red orbs, deep within the black sockets of a skull, turned to her, and Edea felt her blood turn to ice.


	4. A Bloody Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She found herself in an unlikely predicament: stalked by a mysterious creature and being rescued by an unusual group of three.

It was staring right at her. It had killed Crowe, and now it was coming for her.  
_Oh, crystals, what do I do?!_ She tried to force herself to _do something_ , but her body had locked up, refusing to move. It was creeping closer, fractals of frost, stained red with blood, branching around the room at its silent approach.  
_Do something! You need to_ do something _!_ Her instincts screamed. All she could manage was another terrified sob, her limbs beginning to tremble.  
It stopped suddenly. Its head tilted slightly, as though studying her, jaw open as though it were about to speak, emphasising its long fangs.  
_Now! Now's your chance!_  
If she could just get a firm grip on Ise-no-Kami, then...

What she would later identify as a pair of arms grabbed her around her middle, hoisting her off her feet. Her instincts, perfectly honed for battle, screaming at her to attack, she did the only thing she could, and began to claw and kick at the one who had grabbed her. She was fairly certain she'd heard voices at some point, but her mind was still reeling, _get away get away GET AWAY_ , and it was only when her limbs were restrained did she allow exhaustion to take her.

Edea awoke with a groan. She knew she was not at Centro Keep; it was too warm, and the stench of blood no longer permeated the air. She felt groggy, like she'd just woken up from a deep sleep. With a brief glance around, she assumed she was at an inn of some kind, if the number of beds was any indication.  
"... poor dear's in shock, so she may not wake for a while." A female voice from outside the room explained to an unknown conversation partner. The door squeaked as it opened, and Edea managed to will her limbs, heavy like lead, to lift her body up into a sitting position.  
"Oh, good." A woman, middle aged at Edea's guess, smiled warmly at her as she entered. "You're awake. I'll let Karl and the party who brought you here know." After checking her over, the woman left, presumably to fetch this "Karl" character.

The room chilled slightly, and Edea found herself huddling beneath the blanket draped over her.  
It was here.  
The door, left ajar by the woman, slowly creaked shut. Eyes flickering to each shadowed corner of the room, she attempted to spot that _thing_ from before.  
"I... I know you're there, s-so stop hiding..." She croaked. Her throat was dry and painful, and the cold, freezing the moisture in the air, wasn't helping.  
Something brushed against her hair, causing her to flinch, and, although it may have been a mere draft, she was certain she felt cold breath against the back of her neck...

Squeezing her eyes shut, Edea silently begged for the woman from before, or even Karl, to appear, to tell her this was nothing than a bad dream, that it was all just a horrible nightmare.  
The candles on the bedside tables flickered violently before sputtering out, snuffing out any warmth the room previously had. Edea gripped the bedsheets, her knuckles white, hoping that the creature would leave her bed.  
Surely, it wouldn't kill her when she's in a public place?  
The shadows on the far wall, as though in answer, began to warp and twist, gradually forming a humanoid shape. A pair of red lights, the colour of blood and fire, focused on her, and Edea wished she wasn't in such a vulnerable state.

Desperately searching the room, Edea found the Ise-no-Kami propped against a desk a few feet away from her. Good, a weapon was relatively close by, then. The main question, and Edea's primary concern, was what the creature would do. Would it impale her, like it did Crowe? Or would it go for a more violent tactic?  
Edea knew she didn't have much time; the creature could attack at any moment.  
Carefully, she managed to twist herself around so she was facing the side of the bed, the springs squeaking at her movements. Her eyes briefly flickered over to where her katana rested, refusing to let the creature out of her sights for more than a few seconds. Despite her movements, the creature remained in place, not once making a move to attack.  
_Just what are you planning...?_  
Managing to stand, despite her legs' protests, Edea glared at the red orbs that served as the creature's eyes, _daring_ it do something, yet also desperately hoping it didn't pick up on her terror at the sight of it. The orbs tilted slightly, as though the creature were cocking its head. Grogginess abandoned in favour of adrenaline, Edea lunged for her katana. Her hand closed around its grip, drawing it from its sheath. Its familiar weight made her more secure, letting her know that, if this thing were to kill her, she'd at least go down fighting. Edea let adrenaline and survival instincts take over, the Ise-no-Kami held in front of her, slim blade pointed at the warped shadows that made up the creature, ready to strike.  
Her defensive posture didn't seem to bother the creature, as it partially emerged from the wall to seemingly watch her, the shadows that its body was composed of rippling slightly. With an adrenaline-fuelled cry, Edea lunged forwards, driving the point of Ise-no-Kami's blade into the creature's body.

It made no move to get away, choosing to remain in place. Her blade met little resistance, as though she were attacking a fine cloth, and speared through the creature's body, embedding the blade into the wall. Edea's eyes widened; the creature didn't bleed, nor did it show any signs of pain, and the lack of resistance her blade met was concerning.  
_What the hell is this thing?!_  
Rattling Ise-no-Kami in an attempt to free it from the wall, she found the blade to be stuck. Seeing no other option, Edea raised her hand for a punch that, on a normal being, would at least result in a broken nose. Still, the creature did nothing. Edea threw her fist forwards.

It was like plunging her hand into ice water. Her fist certainly connected, as she felt the creature's head move back at the force of her punch, but it felt _wrong_. The sensation could only be described as twisted and _warped_ , and her instincts told her to _back off_. Edea shakily withdrew her hand from where it had met the wall, her knuckles throbbing from the impact, the creature having retreated back to the safety of the untouchable shadows. Those accursed orbs were still staring at her.  
"What..." Her voice was shaking, breath emerging as a misty cloud. How had she not noticed how cold simply being _near_ this creature was? "What the _hell are you?!_ "  
It didn't answer. The shadows twisted and rippled, gradually returning to their original shape, and the red orbs winked away into blackness.  
As soon as the creature vanished, the door burst open, and three people barrelled into the room.

After calming down, and warming up with a cup of coffee (practically drowning in sugar, as she liked it) courtesy of Karl, who she now knew to be the innkeep, Edea found herself surrounded by the three people who had saved her from the creature before. All were relatively young, in their late teens to early twenties at best, and seemed to be a relatively diverse trio. The first male, a brunette around her age, seemed to be relatively down to earth and served as the voice of reason, especially in comparison to the second male, a chattery blonde who was, at his best, described as "flamboyant", and at his worst as "waiting for a punch to the face". To her immense irritation, he seemed oddly fixated on her, spouting off some nonsense over how their meeting was "meant to be" due that book, strangely familiar and emblazoned with a large D on its cover, he carried. The only female of the group was also a brunette, and appeared rather shy, or at least withdrawn, since she spoke significantly less than her male counterparts. Perched on her shoulder was a tiny, winged humanoid, a so-called "cryst-fairy" (Edea found herself uneasy at that; she was no expert on Crystalism, but cryst-fairies had never been mentioned in the books and lessons she'd had on the religion. If these tiny beings were so important, wouldn't they have been included in them?) that called herself Airy.  
The trio introduced themselves as Tiz Arrior, Ringabel (Edea internally scoffed at that. _Ringabel_? Really? _That_ was the best name the amnesiac could up with?), and, to her shock, Agnès Oblige.

Oblige. It was the surname all Vestalings took upon becoming a Vestal proper. This young woman was Edea's, and the Duchy's, enemy. Or at least, she _should_ be. How could she capture the woman who had helped save her life? Likewise, could she really afford to be alone right now, having turned traitor to her country and being stalked by a creature she knew nothing about?  
Pushing those thoughts aside, Edea managed to give the trio a shaky smile, her eyes briefly flickering over to the shadowed corners of the room.  
The Vestal (her name is _Agnès_ , Edea internally reminded herself) gave a sudden, frightened inhale, her eyes fixed on a spot to the left of Edea's head.  
"Agnès? Are you alright?" Tiz asked, turning to the Vestal.  
"There was... there was something there. By the table." Her eyes didn't leave their spot on the wall. Edea felt herself trembling slightly.  
"D-did you see what it was?" She asked, despite already knowing the answer. The Ve- _Agnès_ shook her head.  
"It was too quick for me to properly see, but..." Her gaze moved down towards the bedside table. "Oh..."  
Agnès' axpression was... confused? Turning her head to see what had caused the young woman's shift in demeanour, Edea paled.  
Sitting innocently on the table, covered in rust-coloured stains, was the Black Mage Asterisk.

"This is... Crowe's Asterisk..." Edea murmured, more to herself than to the group of three (or four, if she counted Airy, which she really didn't). "But how...? How did it get here?"  
The trio assured her that they had absolutely nothing to do with the sudden appearance of the Asterisk; the Black Mage may have been unpleasant, or even downright horrid, but he at least deserved some respect in his death; robbing his body was an idea none of the group had entertained, and were repulsed at the mere _thought_ of touching Crowe's corpse.  
"But then... where did it come from?" Edea frowned, and Ringabel opened his mouth, ready to give a possible theory.  
Any possible answer from the amnesiac about their predicament remained unsaid, as a pained scream ripped through the air. Ringabel, being the most agile out of the group, rushed to the window, and his complexion paled, his grip on that eerily familiar book tightening.  
"Caldisla is under attack!" He exclaimed, turning to the party. "The Sky Knights are here!"


	5. A Crimson Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the streets ran red, he struggled to suppress its glee. It wanted to hunt, to rip and tear and devour those in its path. But he couldn't give in, for it would not discriminate between a human he was protecting and a human he was hunting.

It started, like it always did, with a dull ringing in his ear. It was irritating, but could be brushed aside. Then, it started to become persistent, like always. His head would throb, the scent of flesh making him giddy, and his mouth would salivate with the _need_ , but he _mustn't_ give in; he couldn't and he wouldn't. Yes, their scent sent it howling for blood, but he had a duty to Braev, and its insistent baying had to be pushed aside. He could resolve that issue later. Of course he could, he always did.

The streets ran red with blood, and he had to quash the urge to rip out the organs of a particularly… _enticing_ human. Oh, but they smelled so _divine,_ and how their blood would be _so sweet_ …

_He felt his body shudder. Never before had he tasted something so_ heavenly _. It was curious how someone so_ foul _could taste so_ sweet _. He licked his lips, tasting the sweet, sweet blood._

No, no, _no._ He had a job to do, and its obsessive need had to be pushed aside.

Observing the carnage from his hiding spot, it was obvious the humans clad in red were the aggressors here. _Why_ they were attacking was something he didn't know (he cared little for the affairs of most humans, after all), but he had to make sure _she_ was safe. Braev would be heartbroken if anything happened to her, and he didn't want his only friend to suffer.

"Oh, no…" A voice, _her_ voice, choked out. Glancing over, he found her, Braev's daughter, and that unusual group of three staring, shell-shocked, at the blood-soaked streets. "Why…? Why did they do this?" She sounded heartbroken, ashamed, even.  
The group let her stand quietly for as long as she needed, which wasn't long. Her fists clenched, and eyes alight with the determined fire that reminded him so strongly of her father, she announced, "I need to stop them. Knowing the Sky Knights, they've likely targeted the king." She turned to the group. "Will you come with me?"

It was clear the group were rather surprised by her announcement, especially the female who carried the scent of a gentle breeze and burning sands. It was clear to him she had some connection to a Crystal, as he could feel the divine energy practically radiating from her, and he found himself uneasy.  
Crystalists, after all, had a strong hatred for Demons, man-eating ones in particular, and she, clearly such a devout Crystalist, would undoubtedly try to exterminate him the moment she saw him. They always did.

_It felt like he was burning, the powder-like substance searing his skull and eating away at his body. It hurt, it_ hurt _and they_ wouldn't stop _. Why? Why didn't they_ stop _?_

With a shudder, he pushed those memories aside. They were almost as bad as the ache and its insatiable _need_ for flesh.

The group murmured amongst themselves, and he watched as her expression shifted from hopeful to anxious. He frowned. If they abandoned her, especially after "saving" her from him, he would see to it that they would never abandon anyone again. _Personally_.  
After a quiet discussion, the group turned to face her.  
"I do not fully trust you, since you are technically my enemy, but I will assist you in stopping the Sky Knights." The Crystalist announced. Beside her, the brunette boy nodded in agreement. The blonde man, who had a scent that was flowery and flamboyant yet _so, so familiar_ , declared he would follow her to the pits of hell itself if she wished it.  
Letting out a soft, content clicking noise, he would admit to himself that he was glad they would not abandon her, even if the _ache_ howled and clawed at his mind in protest.

They had gotten to the castle far too late. Even he, with the ache's constant gnawing threatening to shroud any semblance of sanity, could tell that much.  
Going off of the brunette boy's shocked expression, it appeared he knew at least one of the slain guards.  
"He… He took the king…" The soldier, blonde and covered in blood, choked out. "Please, Tiz…" He reached out to the boy, grasping his hand in one of his own. "S-save the king. Do what I…" He cut himself off with a wet-sounding cough.  
The ache chittered excitedly, practically drooling at a potential meal.  
_Blood! Sweet, sweet blood!_ He blocked out its crowing, barely, instead focusing on the dying soldier and the boy ( _Tiz_. He reminded himself. _Tiz, Tiz, Tiz. Could be important. Remember, remember!_ ).  
The boy ( _Tiz! Don't be forgetting now!_ ) had a determined look on his face.  
"Don't worry, Owen." He gave the soldier a reassuring smile. "We'll save him."  
The soldier, Owen, apparently, managed a weak grin. Taking a shuddering breath, he uttered two words:  
"Thank you…" and then, he fell silent, slumping against the wall.  
The boy- no, no, no, _Tiz_ , stood, his head bowed. He could feel the grief radiating from him.  
_An easy meal; those wallowing in grief are pathetically easy to devour._ He felt it grin, but, again, managed to shove its ceaseless need aside.

Oh, they were… Arguing? Odd. They seemed such a tight-knit group just a moment ago. The blonde (so, so _familiar_ , but _why_?) had practically leapt at her defence when the Crystalist snapped at her for some reason, but he didn't really care for the _whys_ and _how_ 's of humans; his attention was on whether they'd attack her or not.  
Luckily for them, and unfortunately for the ache, they made no move to turn on each other like a pack of wolves. The ache was now a dull whining sound echoing around his head, like a wounded dog, and it clearly wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

They ate dinner at the inn, whilst he remained tucked away in a dark corner, watching, and ready to  
_devour  
__consume  
__feast  
_ protect Braev's daughter ( _what was her name again?_ He found himself wondering) should the group turn hostile.  
Tension hung around the table like a thick fog, and he found it vaguely amusing that, for once, he wasn't the source of it. Instead, it was whatever the group had argued about back at the castle, as the name of that slain guard was brought up several times during their uneasy, whispered conversations.

The guard, it seemed, was the son of the innkeep, and the group's bickering appeared to be over how they were to give the news of his son's death. He felt himself feeling… Sympathetic for the man. He knew he had a child, younger than the guard, of course, but so, so _ill_ , even though he barely remembered her (for he was certain his child was a daughter), and the mere thought of losing her made him sick. For it to become a reality, well… he could understand why the group didn't necessarily agree with Braev's daughter.

Oh, he understood her view, that the innkeep should be proud of his son, giving his life to protect the king, but the other members of their little group, as dysfunctional as it was, were more sensitive to the innkeep's immediate feelings, all three of them seemingly more experienced with the complex emotions of grief. Eventually, they settled on Tiz, who was closest to the Innkeeper's son, being the one to break the news. The Innkeep seemed to take the news well, but he didn't miss the look of sheer grief that flickered across his face. After providing some more food for the group (which also set of the ache, again), he quietly excused himself and left.  
The group were tense, and he could see the amnesiac struggling to decide over whether he should approach the daughter or chatter to Tiz. The Crystalist was clearly uneasy in the presence of Braev's daughter, as she continued to send her anxious glances as she ate. Something, sooner or later, had to give. That something happened to be the Crystalist.

The daughter was clearly as hotheaded as her father, if not more so. The Crystalist's anxious comment, seemingly coming from nowhere, suspecting that she could be selling them out to the Sky Knights earned her an aggravated growl from the rather petite girl and the blonde storming off in a huff, the cutlery rattling from the force she used to excuse herself from the table.

_Braev scowled at his father. Having no real parental figures himself, he simply watched the confrontation from a cooler corner of the room, curious as to how an argument between parent and child would play out.  
__Braev's father, it seemed, wasn't exactly keen on his choice of friends. Or, to be specific, him. He was quite used to being seen as something unpleasant on the bottom of someone's shoe, or even a walking time bomb, so the scorn didn't really bother him. Now_ Braev _on the hand…_

_Needless to say, the argument was loud, much louder than what he was used to, involved a coffee table being upturned, and Braev announcing that, "He's_ my _friend, father!_ I _asked to let him come here, and mother said yes! Just because he looks poorer than us_ doesn't mean he's a bad person _!", before storming out, clearly intending on cooling off at the kimono boy's home._

Beneath his mask, he grinned, finding the similar displays of temper to be rather amusing.  
_Why, she most definitely_ is _her father's child._

He opted not to follow her. She was rather high-strung due to his appearance earlier, so knew that approaching her now would cause more harm than good, especially since she lashed out at him so violently. Instead, he chose to remain behind and observe the group, the Crystalist in particular; he hadn't really noticed before, being too focused on the daughter and her safety to really pay attention, but there was magic, emanating from a fixed point upon her shoulder, that seemed _off_ , even by his standards. It wasn't overly malicious, but it wasn't exactly _benevolent_ , either. It seemed to flutter, like the beating of a butterfly's wings, and the light it gave off, a soft silvery blue, was an unusual contrast to the strange warmth that seemed to radiate from the source's centre. Its strangeness and placidity warranted further observation.  
His observations gave him little interesting information to work with, but he did, eventually, realise it was not magic taking physical form, but was instead a tiny, winged human; a fairy.

Much like the ache, fairies tended to be fickle, favouring one person or object for a while, only to suddenly turn on them. For the ache, its treachery was a simple matter of what gave it the quickest meal, but for fairies, he hadn't a clue why they turned as quickly as they did. The fae, after all, rarely graced corporeal brings with their presence, being more of a concept in nature, constantly changing and not once settling on set behaviours, and often being regarded as insane by humans.  
Really, with those behaviours in mind, was it any surprise that people often mistook a fae for a demon? Both targeted humans, after all, and often for petty reasons.  
Despite the notoriously erratic nature of the fae, the fairy seemed content to remain perched upon the Crystalist's shoulder, partially hidden beneath her long hair.

Roughly twenty minutes later, when night had fully settled over Caldisla, Braev's daughter entered the room. Going off of the slight flush to her cheeks, and the mild tremble of her limbs, she had most likely been venting her anger on something, something he had seen her father do on several occasions. Despite the remnants of her previous outburst, her eyes were bright and determined.  
"I've made up my mind." She announced, standing between Tiz and the amnesiac. "But first, I'd like to apologise. My behaviour earlier was uncalled for, childish, even, and I understand why you took offence to what I was saying." The group exchanged confused looks, the fairy upon the Crystalist's shoulder seeming to chitter to itself. She took a deep breath, and continued, "I did not take into account the Inkeep's feelings, so I understand why you became angry with me. Furthermore, I wish to reinforce my decision earlier. Regardless of my feelings towards you, Vestal, I will join forces with you if it means putting a stop to the Sky Knights' brutish ways, so you better get used to me; I'll be sticking around for quite a while."

Although he couldn't see the expression the Cryalist - who he now knew to be a Vestal - wore, he could tell she was anxious; her posture was stiff, guarded, and her head was slightly bowed. Clearly, she was struggling to truly trust the daughter. He highly doubted she'd turn aggressive, but he knew that every human had a vicious side; it was simply a matter of _when_ it would show.  
The Vestal appeared to fidget with something before sighing. Apparently, she was the designated "leader" of the group, if the way the amnesiac and Tiz looked to her for her input was any indication.  
"Very well, then." She sat up straighter, more confident, her hands moving to likely smooth out wrinkles in her dress. "As I said before, I do not fully trust you, but any assistance is appreciated. Therefore, I will allow you to accompany us."

Things settled down remarkably quickly after that. The daughter and the amnesiac headed out to investigate some late night stalls, whilst the Vestal and Tiz remained behind. He saw no reason to follow the daughter. Although he was clearly a shameless flirt, as evident by the way females would twitter around him, the amnesiac was rather harmless (but why is he _so familiar_?). The Vestal and Tiz were managing what supplies they had, and were designating Asterisks to each other. They seemed to be avoiding the one that commanded Black Magic, but he hadn't a clue why. He had _given_ it to them, after all; shouldn't they be grateful they have better means of protecting themselves now? With a confused huff that went unheard by the patrons, he slunk outside. The _ache_ was howling now, a baying not unlike that of a bloodhound, and the steady thrum of the humans' heartbeats were beginning to beat against his ears like the tolling of a war drum. If he didn't eat soon, then…

The hunt had been satisfying, but it wasn't enough to even briefly sate the _ache_ , only dull its edge. It wanted more, _more_. So, against his better judgement, well aware that the ache would never truly be sated, he hunted another red-clad human. Smaller than the others, with a slimmer build, this one was almost certainly female. She clutched a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other, ready to fire it upon anything she deemed a threat. For an archer, especially one he assumed to be a scout, she was pathetically easy to stalk and kill. Of course, she had managed to let out a scream before he crushed her skull, and that would attract unwanted attention. His sensitive hearing picked up the sound of hurried footfalls. Knowing that the red-clad humans would soon be upon him, he hauled his meal up into the canopy of a tree to eat in peace.

They were laughably idiotic in their search attempts. There were about five or do, each of varying heights, all clad in red. They were at least smart enough to realise his meal's body had been dragged off somewhere, but they clearly never realised it had been dragged _up_ a tree, not _through_ a thicket if them.  
Biting into an arm, savouring the sweetness of the flesh, he watched. He had not strayed far from Caldisla, but was rather surprised to find so many humans in red near it.  
_Hadn't they been called back to their base of operations?_ He found himself wondering, taking another bite of his meal. The group were debating whether to start a search party, but the idea was quickly shot down by all but one member of the group.

"It looks like a bear attack." One of them, carrying a spear, had said. "There's no hope for her now; look at the blood trail. It dragged her off. Even if we _did_ find her, she'd be long dead before we got her any medical assistance."  
One of the group grumbled a bit, but, reluctantly, agreed that a search party wasn't necessary.  
The group left quickly after that, leaving him alone with his meal.

It didn't seem to be long before the first light of dawn was peeking over the horizon. Although he disliked sunlight, he couldn't deny that the dawn was beautiful. His meal, practically picked clean, lay discarded in a thicket of branches.  
Quietly slithering down the tree, he settled in an alcove created by the tree's trunk and roots. He hadn't slept for a while, wanting to keep a close eye on Braev's daughter, but knew he would be practically useless if sleep deprivation impacted upon his ability to protect her. Casting a quick look around, making sure no one had seen him, he tucked his head beneath his cloak and fell into a light sleep.

He blinked awake at the sound of crunching underbrush. Carefully, he untucked his head, still covered by the mask, from beneath his cloak and rested it against a tree root, enabling him to see what was coming, and for those walking pass to assume he was nothing more than a dog skull. Judging by their scent, they were most definitely human, but the smell of a pack animal (a donkey, perhaps?) drifted amongst them. He had to be careful. Pack animals were also prey animals, and they tended to be particularly sensitive to the presence of potential predators. The ache was desperate now; his meal from before was not enough for it, and it wanted _more_.

The group appeared from a thicket of trees, clearly following a set path. There were three of them in total, all male. A mule, burdened with baggage upon its back, placidly walked between two of them. When they came close to his hiding place, the mule came to a sudden halt. It swivelled its long ears, tossed its head, and let out an irritated snort, stomping the ground with a forehoof. It knew he was here.

One of the men, dressed in a gaudy, flashy outfit, attempted to make the animal move, tugging sharply on the beast's reins. The mule refused to move. It twisted its head around skittishly, clearly trying to find the source of its discomfort. When its eyes came to rest upon the tree he was hidden beneath, it let out a loud, high-pitched bray and reared up on its hind legs. The men attempted to calm it, roughly grabbing it by the reins, but the mule was panicked, and lashed out with its front hooves, striking one of the men in the head. He crumpled to the floor, and the beast fled, the burden it carried strewn about the forest floor.  
The two remaining men, all of whom he believed to be merchants of some sort, hurried to pick up their unconscious companion.

The ache spiked, and his head felt like it was splitting. He felt his body beneath the cloak twisting, writhing, wanting to reach out and _tear_ and _rip_ and _consume_ them. Slowly, he lifted his head from the tree root, his jaw widened, ready to bite, to _break_. The ache was excited now, its baying echoing through his mind like a hunting dog upon catching the scent of a fox. The two men were still unaware of his presence, being too focused on their injured companion to pay attention to their surroundings.  
He readied himself, his body shifting to a more serpentine shape, perfectly poised to strike, and-

-and then there was a horrible feeling through his body. It was quick, like a small jolt of a Thunder spell, but it was enough to make him reel back to his hiding place, suppressing a shocked squawk.  
It was painful, and it sent his body into small spasms, rippling beneath the cloak, and his jaw twitching.  
_That was… I thought he wouldn't…_ His mind felt strange, disconnected. The ache was silent now, but he could tell it was still there. He hurt all over, despite the quickness of _that_. It was the same sensation, the same pain, used by _them_ to control him in the past. Braev had promised. He had promised not to use it unless he absolutely had to. Surely his current behaviour didn't warrant _that_?  
The two men and their injured companion had gotten away. He could feel the ache stewing beneath the surface, ready to emerge and devour anything in its path. He still hurt, but his body was at least responding to him now. After he had made sure of his daughter's safety, he was going to confront Braev about this.

His thoughts of confronting the Templar were abandoned in favour of observing the next group that arrived around half an hour later. The blonde, dressed in red, was immediately recognisable. Braev's daughter. The Vestal, the amnesiac, and the boy named Tiz were still with her, so at least they hadn't turned on each other in the time he was gone.  
The group all looked determined, and he was quite happy to see that the amnesiac was wearing the Asterisk he had given them.  
_Good._ He thought, watching them pass. He had to resist the urge to flinch when the amnesiac cast a Thunder spell, electrocuting a pack of goblins, ready for them to be picked off by Tiz and the daughter. The Vestal seemed to be going for a support role, as she donned an Asterisk that gave her access to White Magic and dressed her in a rather familiar white robe. From his current position, he couldn't see the fairy, but he knew it was there; its magic was so foreign to him that he could pick up on it easily.  
The group passed by him quickly, heading towards the ruins that the man who smelt of smoke had perished within.

Following them was an easy, albeit slightly painful, endeavour. His body, even now, still ached, and the twittering of birdsong hurt his ears; he resisted the urge to snap at a particularly loud blackbird, knowing that the bird's startled warbles would threaten to give away his position. Despite the pounding in his ears and the ache's low grumbling, he followed and observed them. They were remarkably skilled combatants, despite the daughter being the only one with any formal combat training. The Vestal would heal their wounds quickly and efficiently, the amnesiac would keep hoards of monsters at bay with a stunning display of Black Magic, and Tiz and the daughter would pummel and slice the monsters that were brave enough to continue to fight. Truly, they were a highly efficient team.

The group, he noticed, became uneasy once entering the ruins. The daughter and Tiz entered a stance that indicated they were prepared to fight at the slightest provocation, the rod wielded by the amnesiac crackled with electricity, and the Vestal tightly gripped her staff, White Magic flickering at her fingertips. Despite this, he could hear the faint giggling of the fairy, which fluttered slightly behind the group. It sounded vaguely like the tinkling of bells, but the sound made him uneasy.  
They passed the spot where the daughter had nearly been incinerated, and where the man who smelt of smoke met his end. He didn't miss the way she grimaced at the sight of the dark brown stain smeared across the floor, nor the comforting hand placed upon her shoulder by the amnesiac.  
_Humans are such strange creatures, viciously attacking each other one day and comforting each other the next._ He thought to himself as the group shuffled past, their gazes anywhere but the stain on the floor.

With the key they had somehow gotten their hands on, the group opened the heavy iron door at the back of the ruins. Its hinges squealed as it opened, and he had to cringe back, shielding his eyes, as light flooded the ruins. Blinking, his eyes adjusted to the light, he peered outside. The group had moved quickly, and were now several metres away; the chances of them noticing him were slim. Above the trees, with airships flying to and from its balconies like gigantic wasps, he spied their destination; the Sky Knights' base of operations. He couldn't remember its name, his mind being far too fragmented for things as simple as the name of a building, but he knew that it had incredibly tight security, and that news of a traitor in the Sky Knights' ranks would have undoubtedly reached the base's ears by now. He didn't particularly care for most of the group, but Braev's daughter would be in danger. She may have turned traitor, but he had been asked to provide any necessary protection for her, and his loyalty to Braev and his orders would not waver.

The group reached their destination in two days, and fortunately for him the pain from _that_ had faded, but at the cost of the ache reemerging. Throughout their travels, he dealt with the nastier monsters that attempted to harm them, and provided them with food when they camped for the night. Despite their best efforts to find who had been helping them, not once did they see him.  
They arrived outside the Sky Knights' base and, judging by their expressions, were surprised to find a distinct lack of security, complete with the doors having been broken open. That was something he had quite happily done. He hadn't killed all of the guards, it was impractical to hunt down and slaughter every single one of them despite the ache's insistence that it was possible, but had instead herded those he hadn't killed into a large, unused room, likely a storage room, and had locked them in, rendering it impossible for them to escape by both freezing the door's lock and hinges solid and pocketing the key.

The group carefully crept through the empty halls, oblivious to him shadowing them. The only sounds that were being made were their footsteps and the crackling of the torches that were hung on the walls.  
They found the stairs that would take them up to the first floor, but stopped suddenly. It appears his efforts at clean-up hadn't gone as well as he'd thought. The empty, blood-covered armour of a particularly bothersome Sky Knight lay discarded on the bottom step, and even he had to cringe at the blood that splattered across the banister.  
_How did I miss that?_ He wondered, frowning, as the ache reared its ugly head, crowing about a successful hunt but still wanting more.  
The daughter was the first to shake out her stupor.  
"Come on, guys." She said, tugging at the amnesiac's sleeve. "We still need to rescue the king."  
The amnesiac's throat bobbed as he swallowed, positively _reeking_ of fear, and gave her a stiff nod. The Vestal and Tiz were clearly more affected by the carnage than the two blondes, as they tried to put as much distance between themselves and the bloodied spots on the stairs without falling. Despite their fear, the fairy tugged impatiently on the Vestal's hair, sharply telling them to hurry up. From his place in the shadows, he scowled up at the tiny humanoid. He didn't care for the Vestal, but the fairy's behaviour was very rude, and he couldn't stand rudeness.

He hummed quietly to himself as the group made their way through the halls. He had no reason to fear being found through this, as it was too low for human hearing to pick up. As for the fairy, well, he had no idea. Judging by its lack of reaction, it didn't appear to hear him, but he made sure to watch it for any signs that it did.  
The daughter stopped upon reaching the second, and final, floor.  
"This is it, guys. This is where Heinkel is undoubtedly keeping the king."  
_Heinkel…?  
_ The rest of the group got themselves into a battle-ready stance, clearly prepared to fight their way to the king's freedom. Prepared for combat, the group strode forward.

"How kind of you to grace us with your presence, Edea." The man was tall, almost as tall as Braev, and was clad in iron and chainmail armour. He wielded a sword whose pommel reached his elbow when on its end in one hand, and a large, white shield in the other. Through the scent of the armour that protected him, he could smell blood. The man was injured. Beside him stood a rotund elderly man garbed in fine robes; atop his head was a crown. That was undoubtedly the king the group had come to rescue.  
The daughter ( _Edea, Edea,_ Edea) frowned at the man, but he wasn't paying attention to what they were saying. He could feel the ache again, louder than before. It was clawing at him, and he could feel his mouth begin to salivate.  
_Oh, surely they wouldn't mind if I made him a meal…?_ He highly doubted they would mind. From the looks of things, Edea and the man were having an argument, a very _loud_ argument that threatened to involve weaponry.  
_He'd make a fine meal._ The ache whispered, and he could practically _feel_ it slithering around his mind. _Making a meal out of him would also protect the girl, yes?  
_ Well, it did have a point, but…  
_Then why the hesitation? It's just_ one _meal._

The man's heartbeat thrummed against his ears. The blood from his unseen wound was intoxicating. He was too busy threatening Edea and the Vestal to pay attention to him. He crept behind them, behind _his prey_. Still, he was oblivious. Edea wasn't. She swallowed and backed away, eyes darting to the shadowed corners of the room. She retreated to the group, seeking safety amongst them.  
"What's the matter, Edea? Lost the stomach to fight?"  
Edea said nothing, for she had finally seen him, emerging from the wall like the monster he was. The shadows that covered him melted away, allowing the mask that covered his head to be seen. His jaws opened, and he leaned in close, to the back of the man's neck.

Perhaps he had noticed where Edea was looking, or perhaps he had sensed that something behind him, as the man had suddenly twisted around to face him, bringing his shield up to protect him. He felt his jaws smack against the steel of the guard, and he had to recoil as vibrations from the collision swam around his head. Shaking his head to clear the unpleasant feeling, he let out a hiss, baring his fangs beneath the mask.  
Clearly, the man was braver than he thought, as he stood there, sword ready to strike and shield protecting his torso, seemingly unaware of how vicious his opponent was.  
"So, you're the one attacking my guards, then?" He got a snarl in reply as he crouched down and snapped his jaws at him.

The man charged forward, using his shield as an effective battering ram. He swept to the side, easily avoiding the charging man, but had to duck as the sword he wielded swung out to try and catch him, barely grazing his cloak. Edea and her group had enough sense to stay out of the way, at least, as they had crept over to the king whilst the man was distracted.  
The man let out an agitated growl.  
"If that's all you're capable of, I fail to see how the guards couldn't stop you." He taunted. Beneath his disguise, he bristled. The ache was screaming now.  
_Finish it! Kill him already!  
_ Letting out a screeching roar, he lunged forward, too quick to the man to stop, and sunk his fangs into his arm.

He tried to shake him off, but he was too strong. The man began to beat against his head with the pommel of his sword, but all it did was enrage him. With the cracking of bone and tearing of flesh, the man let out a scream, clutching the bloodied stump of his arm as his sword clattered to the floor. He would savour his miniscule prize later. He had a hunt to finish. Despite his obvious pain, the man was still determined to fight. Bending down on unsteady legs, he managed to grip the hilt of his sword and point it threateningly at him.  
"I don't know what you are…" He panted, glaring. "But I'll see to it that you're put down today!"  
_Such bold words for such a pathetic human._

His claws shredded the man's armour, leaving deep gouges in the metal. Hissing under his breath, he attempted to swing his sword at him, but found it striking the wall. A cackle bubbled from his throat, the man cringing at the sound. The sword came at him again, this time from a lower angle, but the sweep was easily avoided. His shadows lurched forward and grabbed hold of the man's remaining arm, wrenching the sword from his grip. Weaponless, he fell to his knees, the shadows refusing to relinquish their hold on him. He stalked forwards, an excited clicking noise emerging from his throat.  
The man glared up at him despite his defenceless position. He didn't care. All that mattered to him was getting to eat.  
He knocked him onto his back, revealing the exposed skin left by his claws tearing through his armour. He easily cracked it open, like a crab's shell. Now, the feast would begin.

The liver, he found, was quite a delicacy, provided it hadn't been rotted by alcohol or similar noxious substances. Somehow, the man had tried to shove him away from his exposed innards, but he simply snapped at his hand, crushing his wrist. He continued to feast, even as the man's pained cries turned to gurgles until he fell silent. Oh, it was _bliss_ , and he wanted more, more, _more_! Those humans looked rather enticing, even if one had far too much fat. Why, to make a meal out of them would be _easy_ , just one quick bite and…  
… and?  
What was he doing?

He felt a sudden sense of calm, which he likened to a mother soothing her child. He felt the ache fade until it was nothing more than a dull pain in his stomach, its howling demands little more than meaningless whispers.  
Glancing down, he caught sight of the man.  
_What on earth did I just do…?_  
His attention was brought away from the man when Edea stepped forward.  
"You're… trying to protect me, aren't you?" She asked, voice quivering. Why was she afraid? Shouldn't she feel safe with her protector?  
He nodded. A glowing stone on the man's body caught his eye. An Asterisk. He bent down and pulled it from his neck, holding it out to the girl.  
"Oh, um…" She shuffled her feet, worrying her lip with her teeth. "I…"  
Why was she hesitating in taking it? He gently took hold of her wrist, ignoring her flinch, and flipped her hand so its palm was upwards. He placed the Asterisk in her hand, gave her a quick bow, and left.  
Now, he needed to have a word or two with Braev…


	6. Concerning Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fairy's appearance and his daughter turning traitor weren't the only things that worried him.

Braev knew something was wrong. Khint was unusually stiff around him. True, the demon wouldn’t (or perhaps _couldn’t_ ) express much emotion, but his sudden closed off behaviour was odd, even for him.  
“Are you alright?” He asked gently. The two of them sat in comfortable lounge chairs, something not often seen in Central Command. Between them rested a coffee table, two cups, one of coffee and the other of ice water, and a platter of biscuits sitting atop it.  
Khint seemed to stiffen further at his enquiry. He was no longer in the black cloak and mask, instead wearing his Spell Fencer robes, but even he didn’t miss the way Khint’s shadow twitched, as though agitated.  
“I’m fine.” He replied, curtly. Braev raised a brow, but didn't push. Khint, he knew, could become rather nasty if pressed too much.

_The only evidence that Kamiizumi and Khint had had any sort of spat was the dried blood that caked Kamiizumi’s arm and Khint’s face.  
“He wouldn’t stop asking questions.” Was Khint’s way of explanation.  
“About…?”  
“About where I live.”  
“It’s just a question, _ Khint _. It’s no reason to rip a chunk out of my arm!” Kamiizumi growled._  
Khint at least managed to look somewhat guilty.  
“I don’t like to talk about it.”

Looking at him closely, Khint seemed rather distracted, as though he had a question but was afraid of asking it.

“Is there something you wish to ask me?”  
To his surprise, Khint flinched. The demon avoided his gaze, instead turning to watch the embers that emerged from the fireplace. It was quiet enough that he could clearly hear the crackling of the fireplace and the howling of the Eternian wind.  
The chair creaked as Khint shuffled in his seat, as though uncomfortable. He leaned forwards and carefully picked up the cup of ice water, but did not drink it, instead cupping it in his hands.  
“Truthfully, Braev, there is something I wish to ask of you.” He said, still avoiding the Templar’s eyes. “I…” His head drooped, covering his face with his long hair. “Braev, be honest with me.” His voice was low, threatening, even. “Did you activate the Demon Band at any point when I was in- um…”  
“Calsidla.”  
“Yes, Calsidla. Did you activate the Band at any point when I was there?”  
“I did, yes.”  
Khint’s fingers tightened over the cup.  
“And did you activate it to cause me pain, to force me to heel, like a dog?”

Braev frowned.  
“The only time I activated the Band was to _calm_ you, not to injure you.” Khint raised his head, watching him out of the corner of his eyes.  
“Really, now?” He sounded skeptical.  
_What on earth happened over there?_ Braev wondered, meeting the demon’s gaze.  
They watched each other in silence, Khint frowning and Braev remaining as open in his expression as he could. When Khint sat up and brought the cup to his lips, he let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding; he had passed whatever test Khint had given him.

“So…” Khint began, rather placid despite his prickly demeanour earlier. “If you didn’t activate the Band, who did?”  
Braev propped his elbow on his knee and rested his chin on his hand, his brow knitting as he thought.  
“I wish I knew, Ciggma.” His frown deepening, he sat up. “Are there any more of those pendants lying around, by any chance?”  
Khint leaned back in his chair, crossing his leg over his knee before replying.  
“Yes, but as far as I’m aware all of them are kept in the facility where I was d- where I lived.” He let out a nervous cough before continuing. “That place has been long abandoned, but it’s not that outlandish to imagine someone may have snuck a second one out.”  
“That’s… problematic. For both of us.” Khint hummed in agreement.

“I missed Eternia, you know.” Khint stated, changing the subject. Braev allowed him to continue his train of thought; as far he was aware, Khint had never really had the chance to express himself properly in the past. “It’s… quiet here. Very different from that desert country I was in.”  
“Ancheim?” He supplied, wondering if the demon was experiencing some sort of memory problem. Khint nodded.  
“The city’s practically a giant clock; I barely slept when I was there due to the incessant ticking.” Letting out a content sigh, Khint settled deeper into his seat. “Yes, I do love it here, in Eternia.”

They sat in content silence, Braev sipping his cup of coffee and Khint his cup of ice water. Braev happily watched the embers flickering in the fireplace, whilst Khint was content to watch snowflakes dance in the wind. It wasn’t often he got to relax like this, so cherished the small moment.  
 The door burst open, making them both jump. Khint let out a hiss, darting to a corner of the room, and Braev stood up quickly, reaching for his sword.  
“L-Lord Marshal!” The soldier cried, hurrying to the Templar. Braev set his sword down, but Khint did not move from his corner. “I bring terrible news!”  
“What is it?”  
“Th-the Sky Knights, sir! Most of them have been slaughtered!”  
“ _What?!_ ”  
“N-no one knows who is responsible, sir, but we’re looking into it!” Braev nodded, signalling he understood, before dismissing the guard. He left quickly, the door closing loudly.

Braev didn’t know how long he had stood there, his mind reeling from this information. There was only one being he knew who had been present in Calsidla and was capable of slaughtering more than a dozen soldiers.  
“Ciggma.” He stood with a grim expression on his face, his posture uninviting.  
“Yes?” The demon’s voice came from his left side, sounding as though he was standing right beside him. His eyes flickered over to where the voice appeared to be coming from, but was met with an empty wall.  
“What did you do?”  
“... could you elaborate, please?”  
“I sent you to Caldisla to ensure Edea's safety and to make sure the Sky Knights didn’t step too far out of line.” He whirled around to the corner where Khint stood. The demon watched him passively, almost infuriatingly so.  
“Yes, Braev. That is what you asked of me.”  
“And now I’m asking you this: _what did you do in Caldisla?!_ ” He hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but Khint’s blank expression and flat tone had gotten his blood boiling. Khint simply stared at him, surprised. “Well?!”  
“I…” Khint fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, eyes downcast. His body gave a sudden twitch, as though pulled by an unseen force; Braev instinctively reached for his blade. Khint blinked and raised his head, meeting Braev’s eyes. “Well, what do you think I did?”  
Braev growled, tightening his grip on his weapon. Khint strode forward, and Braev backed off into a more open section of the room.  
Letting out a sigh, Khint turned to the Templar.  
“Braev, you told me to protect her, and I did.”  
“Does such protection warrant slaughtering most of the Sky Knights?”  
“Yes.” Braev flinched at his blunt tone. “They would’ve killed her if I didn’t kill them first.” Braev frowned at Khint again, but set his weapon down, ensuring it was still within reach.  
“Just… let’s just sit down and discuss this.”  
“I think that’d be wise; I’ve news for you that you may not necessarily welcome.”  
Braev raised a brow at that, but sat down in his original seat, Khint doing the same. Judging by Khint’s tone, this news would most definitely _not_ be pleasant.

Braev stared at him, utterly flabbergasted.  
“... what?”  
Khint absent-mindedly chewed on a biscuit, not at all focusing on Braev.  
“You heard me.”  
“Edea, a _traitor_?” Suddenly, it was as though a switch had been flipped. A grin split across Khint’s face, far too wide to be considered friendly, and a maniacal gleam flickered in his eyes.  
“I know, Braev. Isn’t it hilarious?”  
“Ciggma, that’s not-”  
“Oh, but it _is_ funny, Braev! The sheer irony of it is hysterical! The daughter of the _Templar_. the _leader_ of Eternia, has turned _traitor_!” He let out a loud, hyena-like cackle, and it made Braev’s skin crawl. “And she’s allied with a _Vestal_ , no less!”  
“ _What_?!” As quickly as Khint’s glee emerged, it disappeared. His expression became blank, his voice monotone, and his posture stoic.  
“Yes, Braev. She’s with the Vestal.” He frowned softly, as though trying to remember something. “There was… something else, too, Braev.”  
Braev tiredly rubbed his temples, trying to suppress the headache that was threatening to form.  
“And what is this _something else_ , Ciggma?”

“A fairy.” Khint stated matter-of-factly. Braev blinked, raised his head, and, unable to really figure out what Khint was talking about, settled on giving him a confused frown.  
“A… fairy?” Khint nodded.  
“It was perched on the Vestal’s shoulder most of the time. It didn’t appear malicious, but it felt off regardless.”  
A fairy… Braev’s frown deepened. Why did that seem important? What would a fairy be doing in-  
Oh, no.  
“I know what it wants.”  
“Do you?” Khint was staring blankly at the wall, his eyes holding an airy, dream-like quality to them. Braev suppressed a shudder; Khint was becoming more and more erratic as the conversation continued, and at the rate it was going, he may be forced to restrain him.  
“The Crystals. It wants to overload the Crystals.”  
Khint tilted his head.  
“The lock, perhaps?”  
“What?”  
“The lock. She wants to undo the lock, I think.” Khint turned to him, his eyes glassy, as though he were caught in a daydream. “I’m surprised she's the only one here.”  
_What on earth are you talking about…?_ Braev could only nod, and Khint’s expression returned to normal.

“Braev, are you alright?” He enquired, idly tapping on the side of his glass. “You’re looking awfully pale.”  
Braev cleared his throat nervously, sipping on his coffee as he debated on the most ideal way of getting information out of the demon.  
“What did you mean by ‘the lock’, Ciggma?” He reasoned that, with the way the minds of demons generally worked, being blunt would be his surest way of a quick answer.  
“The lock?” Khint blinked at him, staring at him as though he were crazy. “When did I mention a lock?”  
Braev could only stare at him, shocked. Did he not remember? Surely he did! But… but demons don’t lie. Well, Khint didn’t, at least. If he said he didn’t remember, then what had he witnessed mere moments ago?  
Braev let out a tired sigh.  
“Nevermind.”

He dismissed Khint shortly after that, telling him to stay put in Central Command until he’d worked out the mess he’d made in Caldisla. It was when he was seated at his desk, rifling through paperwork, when the door creaked open, and the fluttering of leathery wings filled the room. There was a brief flash, a puff of smoke, and Lord Lester DeRosso, the immortal archduke of Eternia, stood before him.  
Braev raised his head, giving the Vampire a level stare.  
“Can I help you, Archduke?” Braev may not particularly _like_ DeRosso, but the man still deserved his respect.  
“I heard about what had transpired in Caldisla.” Braev frowned, silently telling him to get to the point. “Do you think it wise to utilise that demon the way you are?”  
“What do you mean?” Braev asked through gritted teeth. It hadn’t been five minutes and the archduke was already grating on his frayed nerves.  
“You put far too much trust in him.” The Archduke replied, picking up a paperweight and turning it over in his hands. “Would it not be better to have him as an assassin, or an executioner? That way you can keep him close and rein him in if he loses control.”  
Braev set down his quill and propped his head on his hand.  
_He does have a point, but…_  
“It’s an excellent suggestion, but with the way things are, it’d be far easier for me to keep track of the Vestal’s movements through him.”  
DeRosso hummed, not disagreeing yet not agreeing, setting down the paperweight. His hand disappeared into his waistcoat, and emerged with a small black book.  
“I believe you’ll find this interesting.” Was all he said before vanishing in a puff of smoke.

The book, upon closer inspection, appeared to be a diary. It was ragged, its pages worn and torn, with dark brown stains spattered across it. It had no name, having been scratched out, but the rest of it appeared to be intact.  
Setting his paperwork aside, he flipped open the book and began to read, hoping it would hold some answers to his current predicament with Khint.


	7. The Demonologist's Diary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was nothing more than a book, but who knew what secrets it may hold?

7 - The Demonologist’s Diary

It was clear to Braev as he flipped through the diary’s ragged pages that _something_ had attempted to remove some of the information kept in it. Names were scratched out, along with chunks of information, rendering some of the entries useless. Flipping through its pages, he came across an entry that had almost immediately caught his attention. He hadn't a clue why, but _something_ about this particular entry told him it would be important.

_\------, XX98_  
I was assigned to study and raise SW001, who I have named -----, after ------------------.  
It is the most curious of creatures. Somehow able to exist both physically and non-physically, it is a living paradox. I simply hope that it sees no reason to turn on us.  
\----- takes on the form of a ten year old boy, yet is capable of performing the same tasks as someone twice its age. It is intelligent, as evident by its ability to follow (and blatantly ignore) orders. From what I can tell, it is incredibly efficient at finding and exploiting loopholes; I hope to study this behaviour further, so will conduct several experiments to determine the extent of this, and to see whether it can be utilised to become beneficial to us, not just it.  
 Many of my fellow researchers are wary of it, seeing my assignment as a death sentence. I do not understand why this is, but I pray I never find out.

The entry ended there. Braev could only frown, wondering what information had been erased. It was obvious the missing information was the date, a name, and the origin of said name, which made him curious as to _why_ such information had been removed.  
With a shrug, he flipped to the next entry, which appeared to have taken place a few days later.

_As I suspected, ----- is more than capable of exploiting any loopholes in a given order, but clearly ignores any orders it does not like. It seems to have taken a disliking to ------ despite their limited interactions. I have learned that ----- possesses a ravenous appetite, comparable to, if not exceeding, a pack of starved wolves. I do not know why it has such an appetite, but I hope we can use it to our advantage._

_I have opted to deny it food as punishment, seeing as our previous method, taking away any form of entertainment, has not worked. As far as I am aware, it seems oblivious to this, as though it had_

The entry ended suddenly, as the rest of the page had been torn out. Braev let out an irritated sigh. With the way things were heading, he was going to have more questions than answers.  
_Why did DeRosso think I would find this_ interesting _?_ He wondered, skimming towards the back of the diary. He stopped on a particularly battered-looking page. It was covered in ink splatters, the previously neat handwriting now almost ineligible, and it looked like something had attempted to tear out the page. Squinting, Braev managed to piece together a mangled passage:

_... angered something far older than…  
He is the…  
… aching hunger is the call of…  
… our punishment?  
They do not care for us humans. … a mere speck.  
If the Ritual is complete, then…  
To whoever is reading this, know only one thing: the lock  must be undone.  
It’s cold. So, so cold… _  
Braev set the book down and rubbed tiredly at his face. That was… cryptic. And thoroughly unhelpful. Well, at least he had _some_ point of reference; that wasn’t the first time the “lock” had been mentioned, and he fully intended on finding out what it was. He, for a fleeting moment, considered questioning Khint about it, but decided against it. Khint had said he didn’t remember mentioning the lock at all, and pressing the matter would simply agitate him.  
Loathe as he was to admit it, but he needed to speak to DeRosso.

As always, the Archduke’s castle was foreboding, unwelcoming, and somehow colder than the blizzard that howled just outside of it. The walls, dark grey stone, were lined with torches that, despite being high in number, could not banish the darkness that seemed to cling to the building’s interior. Above him, Braev could hear the rustling of leathery wings and the light chattering of bats. In the middle of the expansive room, a painting was mounted on the wall. Upon its canvas was a family: a woman, a man, and a baby. Contrary to what many people believed, the Archduke was not the man in the image, but the baby, something Braev had initially believed to be utterly ridiculous until the man had given him knowledge of things he had thought long lost to time.

There was a rush of cold, and the feeling of being watched. Braev felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and he reached for his sword.  
“I see you’ve read the diary.” The monotone voice of the Archduke stated.  
“Not in its entirety, I’ll admit, but enough to understand that whoever wrote it was involved with something they really shouldn’t be.” Braev replied, his hand still on his blade’s hilt.  
A flash, a puff of smoke, and the Archduke stood before him, in his hand a glass of red liquid.  
“I take it you’ve come here to question me about it?” His voice was a flat drawl, the voice of a man haunted by horrors in his past.  
“I have.”  
“Why not question the demon? It _was_ written about him, after all.” DeRosso took a lazy sip out of his glass. At his feet a Cerberus, panting out fine clouds of smoke, watched him hungrily.  
“There were no mentionings of Khint in that book.” Braev countered, briefly wondering if the Archduke was sipping blood rather than wine, but dismissed the thought; he was a Vampire in name only, as evident by his breathing and the lack of the undead pallor any real Vampire would have. To even think he was consuming blood was preposterous.  
“Of course there aren’t. _They_ made sure of it.”  
“‘They’?” Braev scowled at the ancient man, ignoring the Cerberus’ low growl and the agitated squeaks of the bats above him.  
“I daren’t say their name. They may currently be restrai- no, not restrained, _enslaved_ , but attracting their attention is never a good thing.”

Braev, much like his daughter, was a stubborn man. It may not necessarily be a _good_ quality, but it could definitely be _useful_. Currently, his stubborn streak was attempting to worm out any information he could from DeRosso, despite the man’s deflections.  
“So you cannot say their name, lest you attract any undue attention.” Braev stated, staring harshly at the Archduke, who nodded in reply, lazily swirling his glass of wine. They had taken the conversation to one of the Archduke's lounges, and a roaring fire helped to keep the castle's chill at bay. “Could you at least give me some form of information to work with?”  
“It depends on what information you’re after.”  
“A lock. Khint and the diary mentioned a lock.” DeRosso frowned at that, tapping his finger against his glass, creating a light ringing sound.  
“A lock?”  
“Yes. Both of them mentioned it, but I haven’t a clue what it means. Do you?”  
DeRosso’s brow furrowed in thought, a rare sight, and drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. They sat in silence for a while, the only sounds being the clack of the Cerberus’ claws as they stalked the halls, the soft fluttering of the Melusine’s wings, and the squeaks of the bats that hung in the rafters. It was a moment later that the Archduke let out a gasp, his usually solemn eyes wide with horror, and his glass slipped from his fingers, shattering into countless, red-stained shards.  
“No… no, no, no, no…” He murmured, hurrying to his feet. “They can’t mean… it _can’t_ be…!”  
“Archduke?” Braev enquired, standing up after him. Seeing the usually unflappable man so distressed was disquieting, and his clear horror upon realising what the “lock” was made his stomach churn. DeRosso gave no answer, hurrying away to the stairs, as though he had forgotten Braev was there.

Although he doubted DeRosso had heard him, Braev had given the Archduke a quiet “farewell” at the door of his castle. Having returned to Central Command, he debated on what he should do next; should he continue his conquest of the Crystals, or should he discover what this “lock” was? All signs pointed towards the former; if DeRosso, an immortal, had become horrified at the mere _thought_ of the lock, then what chance did Braev have of discovering what it was? No, he had more important things to worry about, like the Vestal’s movements. As Victor had said, she was likely headed to Ancheim. And with her would be his daughter, his pride and joy.

_Edea…_ He absently thumbed through that accursed book, not absorbing its contents, as he thought. _Why did you turn traitor? Do you not know what the Vestal will do?_  
His head snapped up at the sound of the door creaking. Eyes narrowing, he watched as it slowly slid shut. A chill permeated the air, and with it, the scent of blood-soaked pine needles.  
“I know you’re there, Ciggma.” Across from him, the shadows twitched before twisting and rising up, blanketing the far wall. From it, Khint emerged, garbed in a robe that, at some point, may have been white, but was now a dull, rusty brown. The designs upon it were faded, but he could just faintly make out serpents embroidered around the hem of the sleeves. He had the hood pulled up, obscuring his face; the only part of him that could be clearly seen were a pair of deep red orbs.  
“Is there anything you wish for me to do?” He asked, his voice its usual monotone. He stood directly in front of the desk, well within lunging distance; if he wanted to kill Braev, he could do so faster than Braev could restrain him.  
“I want you to continue watching over Edea, but you are to be more overt in your operations this time; you are to make yourself known to her, act on her orders, and only kill when she asks you to. Furthermore, you are to observe the Vestal and that fairy and report any suspicious activity to me.” Khint nodded in reply, showing he understood. “You’re dismissed.”  
Khint melted into the darkness, the chill lifting; the only sign he had been present was the lingering scent of bloody pine.  
Braev looked down to continue trying to decipher that _blasted book_ , but found his hands to instead be holding a simple spell tome. The diary was gone.


	8. The Desert Country

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was the home of the Vestal of Wind, and also the Wind Crystal. Hopefully, nothing too horrible would happen.

The Shade, as Edea had taken to calling it, was back. She knew it was around due to the frosty chill that hung in the air, but also the faint scent of what was unquestionably blood, but also… pine? Yes, that was definitely pine. Blood and pine.   
She was on the deck of the Eschalot, the airship that had been docked at Lontano Villa, given to them by the Caldislan king, looking out at the only unblemished sea in the entirety of Luxendarc. They had moored on a dock in the Harena region, the waterways of Florem far too narrow for the ship to berth properly, and were planning on making their way to Ancheim, the city that Agnès was from.

According to the Vestal, Ancheim was a grand city that also doubled as a giant clock. Situated between two cliffs, it offered a surprising amount of shade for a desert city. For all that was great about the city (such as the sheer amount of sugar those from Ancheim enjoyed), there was also a major downside: there was a monopoly on water. To Edea’s horror, Agnès had expressed surprise at water being free in Caldisla, and when questioned about it, had explained that the local Merchantry had put a high price on the precious resource, lining their own pockets at the cost of the common folk.   
Edea felt her blood boil at the memory, her hands clenching the Eschalot’s guard rail, and she let out an agitated “mrgrgr!”. The air beside her shifted slightly, but she didn’t flinch, like she would have in the past. She knew the Shade wouldn’t hurt her; it had, in its silent way, told her that itself.   
“What do you think of it? Putting a monopoly on precious resources?” She asked it. In reply, a low clicking sounded in her ear; from what she could tell, it seemed somewhat morose. Did it have a connection to the Merchantry? She’d have to ask Agnès about it later.

Ringabel, as they made their way to Ancheim, quite loudly stated in his own way that he fully intended on wooing any pretty skirt he came across. Edea could only roll her eyes at that, having long gotten used to the wannabe-cassanova’s declarations of romancing anything in a skirt (particularly her, but a punch to the gut stopped that almost immediately). Agnès and Tiz spoke quietly to each other, their voices too soft for her to properly pick up on. Edea didn’t really mind; what the two discussed was, quite frankly, none of her business, even if she did think they’d make for quite a cute couple. Airy fluttered between herself and Tiz, seemingly enjoying the view of the expansive desert. As much as she disliked Airy, as something about her just seemed _off_ , she had to agree with the cryst-fairy on one thing: the view really was beautiful. With its dunes the colour of fire, crisp oases dotting its landscape, and the shadow of Ancheim overhead, the Harena desert was a sight to behold.   
She noted on the lack of the Shade’s presence, as there was no longer a chill around them and the bloody pine scent had long faded away.   
_Maybe it doesn’t like the heat._ She commented internally to herself, scowling over at Ringabel when the amnesiac used Agnès’ mentioning of the spicy cuisine to bring up his fondness for anything female. At the rate he was running his mouth, he’d be lucky to not have a fist to the face by the end of the day.

Ancheim was, in a word, _loud_. Edea was rather used to noise, having been a rather rambunctious child herself, and growing up surrounded by soldiers meant being in a noisy environment was inevitable, but Ancheim seemed to take it to some strange extreme. Normally, she’d find the ticking of clocks quite soothing, but now, as it hammered against her skull, accompanied by the grinding of gears, she was beginning to find it giving her a rather nasty headache. Tiz, it seemed, shared her sentiment, as the shepherd had worn an irritated expression ever since they’d set foot in the city. Agnès, in contrast, didn’t seem to mind, only becoming distressed when they were swamped by a large crowd, whilst Ringabel was completely oblivious, too busy attempting to woo a woman at a stall to pay any real attention to his surroundings.

They fully intended on retiring to the inn to recuperate after their trek across the desert, but the hush that had fallen over the city’s populace warranted investigation.   
The King of Ancheim, Eloch Quentis Khamer VIII, stood in front of his palace, clearly ready to give a speech. Edea and her group gathered towards the back of the crowd at Agnès’ suggestion, the Vestal’s disliking of crowds clearly playing a large part in it.   
A soft wind ruffled Edea’s hair and bow, something that hadn’t occurred in Ancheim for several months thanks to the darkening of the Wind Crystal. The Shade was near. Before, the mere idea of being so close to it terrified her, but now, knowing it was trying to protect her, she felt safer with it around.   
Edea quite quickly tuned out the king’s blabbering, finding his voice to be grating on her ears, but she did get the gist of what he was saying. Due to the wind’s silence, the people of Ancheim had been forced to turn the mill, which supplied the city with power, by hand, and going off of the agitated mumbling that surrounded her group, Ancheim was a powder keg waiting to explode.

The crowd dispersed quite quickly once the king retreated into his castle, much the relief of Agnès. Although she expressed a desire to see the king, to tell him of the damage the Crystals’ darkening had done to Caldisla and by extension the rest of the world, she understood the group’s need to rest, so was perfectly content with them retreating to the inn.   
She was to room with Agnès, and by extension Airy. The fairy still unsettled her, but she could tolerate being in the same room as her, at least. Therefore, sleeping in the same room as her shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Airy, it seemed, was a natural night light. She gave of a soft silvery glow, even when she slept, which, while pretty, made it hard for her to sleep. Grumbling, Edea threw off her bed covers (being careful not disturb Agnès) and sat up. The light that Airy emitted cast shadows upon the walls, shadows that _looked so much like blood, and the sight of Ominas’ mangled-_   
No. That… that was in the past, now. Letting out a sigh, Edea quietly crept out of bed, the only sound being made the soft padding of her feet against the wooden door. _Don’t think about it._ She told herself as she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. _Soldiers die in battle all the time. That wasn’t any different._

The hallway, as expected, was deserted. It was dark, save for the soft flickering of the candles that dotted the walls. Even through the walls she could hear the constant, repetitive ticking of Ancheim’s grand clock and the low groan of gears being turned. Edea knew she wasn’t going to sleep at this rate, so headed in the direction she knew to be the balcony. Stepping outside, she took in the view. The desert was silent, the dunes still. Above her twinkled countless stars, most of which she’d never seen in Eternia due to its perpetual snowstorms, and the wide grinning of a crescent moon.   
It was remarkably warm for a desert at night, but she reasoned that was likely due to the stagnant air that hung over the world due to the Wind Crystal’s darkening.   
Then, the chill came, followed by the scent of blood-soaked pine needles. The cold wasn’t as strong as it usually was, but the scent was unusually close, as though it were directly behind her. Taking a steadying breath, Edea turned around.   
Nothing.   
Frowning, she looked around, trying to spot the Shade.   
_Are you toying with me?_ She wanted to ask, but she was almost afraid it might answer. As protective as it was, she had to admit that a small part of her was terrified of the Shade. Yes, it had protected her from Crowe, and stopped her from coming to blows with Heinkel, but it was at the cost of a bloody death for the two of them.   
Edea let out a huff before returning to admiring the view of the Harena Desert. She felt something gently brush against her hair, and she resisted the urge to turn around and punch it; as much as she trusted the Shade, she didn’t know it well enough to truly gauge how it would react to a seemingly unprovoked attack.

Sighing, Edea slumped forwards, dangling an arm over the railing.   
“Be honest with me. Why are you here?” She asked, her head propped up on her other hand. The air shifted, and from the corner of her eye she saw it emerge. The Shade was as silent as ever, but slowly approached her, coming to stand beside her. It was shorter than her, for once, and she suspected it was hunched over, as though on all fours, like a dog; the canine skull it had for a head certainly brought that imagery to mind.   
It let out a soft click in reply to her question.   
“You can talk, can’t you?” It nodded. “Then why remain silent?”   
The lights in its sockets blinked and it tilted its head. Idly, it lightly snapped its jaws, a soft trill emerging from its throat. Its mouth opened, revealing nothing but eerie blackness, and then…   
Edea almost regretted asking the Shade to speak. Its voice was twisted, a writhing sound, thoroughly alien, that never once settled on a set pitch or tone. Two words. It had only said two words and she wanted to vomit just by hearing them.   
“Why not?” It had replied, its voice as smooth as silk yet splintering like fractured glass, growling like a rabid dog but purring like a content cat. After that, it fell silent again, much to Edea’s relief.   
“O-okay… I can see now why you don’t speak much.” The Shade gave a soft warble in agreement, following her gaze to the sky above. She heard it chatter softly, a surprisingly pleasant sound, like the tinkling of bells, and a light cold, not uncomfortable for once, settled around them.

Edea stood up and stretched, her joints popping. How long had she been out here for? Ten, twenty minutes? She wasn’t too sure, but the Shade seemed unaware of her for once, its gaze focused entirely on the sky. It was faint, being mostly smothered by the perpetual ticking, but she could almost hear… talking? She hadn’t a clue what it was saying, as it sounded very much like gibberish, but she was glad the warped sound was muted. Edea bade it a quiet farewell before heading back indoors and to her room.   
Agnès was still asleep, but Airy was awake, perched on the shelf she had claimed as hers.   
“Can’t sleep?” The cryst-fairy asked, sitting in a nest of scarves, and Edea felt herself bristling slightly.   
_Just why are_ you _awake?_  
“Um, no.” Airy nodded in reply to her answer, kicking off of the shelf to flutter over to her. The fairy landed on her shoulder, and Edea suppressed the urge to shudder. Although Airy had done nothing to warrant such feelings, Edea couldn’t help but feel disgusted whenever she came too close, and being touched by the fairy made her skin crawl.   
“Did you go out to the balcony?” Airy enquired, extending a hand upward to lightly twirl a strand of Edea’s blond hair around her tiny fingers.   
“I did.”   
“See anything interesting?” _Is she completely oblivious to how uncomfortable she’s making me?_   
“I found the stars quite interesting.”   
“The stars?”   
“Mm-hm. I’d never seen some of the constellations they made thanks to Eternia’s snowstorms; they tend to smother everything, even the sky.”   
The tiny fairy nodded, letting out a hum in reply, fully concentrating on twisting a lock of Edea’s hair into a small braid.   
“So what are you doing up?” Edea asked, deciding to be blunt with the fairy.   
“Me?” Airy blinked at her, her expression confused. Clearly, she hadn’t expected Edea to fire the question back at her. “Well… I couldn’t sleep, either.”   
“How come?”   
“The cold.” She replied, huddling against the crook of Edea’s neck, her wings tucked against her back. Edea suppressed the urge to brush her off, like she would an insect. “It… it hurts my wings. Makes them fragile, y’ know?” She twitched one of her wings and winced, tucking herself closer to Edea. “And the _smell_. Ugh.”   
Edea frowned, sitting down on her bed.   
“Smell?” That… didn’t sound good.   
Airy nodded.   
“Like trees and… blood, I think?” That definitely wasn’t good. Was Airy aware of her meeting the Shade? “It seems to hang around you, Edea, but you don’t smell like that at all, so I think something’s following you.”   
Edea raised a brow at that.   
“Really?” She managed to sound incredulous, but she couldn’t stop the sick feeling in her stomach. Something about Airy was just _off_ , and her eerie ability to pick up on details made her more unsettling.   
“Yes, really! I keep getting this sensation of something watching us, and I don’t like it at all.” Airy stood up so she was standing on her shoulder and stretched her wings. Fluttering them and poised to take off, she turned back to Edea. “If you feel like you need any help in stopping this thing, feel free to let me know.” With that, she silently flapped over to her shelf and buried herself in the nest of scarves, muffling the light she gave off. 

Flopping down onto her bed, and wincing at the squeaking of springs, Edea sighed to herself. She hadn’t a clue what time it was, and she daren’t check, lest she _really_ disturb Agnès, which she had absolutely no intentions of doing. With nothing but her thoughts, Edea’s mind wandered back to the Shade, and her conversation with Airy.   
_Is she aware of what it’s doing…?_ She wondered, staring up at the ceiling, and the darkness of the rafters. Above her, the wood creaked and groaned, undoubtedly the Grand Mill as it worked well into the night… But what it was something else? The Shade had an uncanny ability to appear whenever she least expected it, and it appearing here, in her room, wouldn’t be _too_ surprising, given its behaviour, but the mere thought of it being so close unsettled her. Whatever the Shade was, it certainly wasn’t anything _normal_.   
To her left, a soft dripping sound began.   
_It’s most likely a burst pipe or something._ She told herself, trying to ignore the _sound of Crowe’s blood dripping onto the cobblestone, or the blood that seeped from the beast’s m-_   
Edea squeezed her eyes shut, twisting the blankets in her hands. _No, no, no!_ She wouldn’t think about that! She would _not_ think about it!   
Agnès shifted in her bed, the only sound being the soft rustling of bedsheets and the light squeaking of springs. Airy slept on, the only sign of her presence being the dim light that emanated from her scarf nest.   
Tiredly rubbing her eyes, Edea shuffled over onto her side, pointedly ignoring the gaping darkness above her. The Grand Mill ticked on, its sounds eventually lulling Edea into an uneasy sleep.

That night, she dreamed. She dreamed of beings that could not be described, and lavish feasts and drooling dogs. The part that stood out the most was a man who silently watched the festivities from his place in the shadows, not once taking part in the elaborate party before him. The dogs would sniff at him, before trotting back to their master, a woman Edea found to be beautiful beyond words. She had hair the colour of moonbeams and red eyes, her ears long and pointed, like Airy’s, and wore a deep purple dress made from thick fabric, a silver swirling pattern sewn into its hem. Curiously, despite the cold Edea had felt, the woman was barefoot.   
Taking a step forwards, Edea quite quickly caught the partygoers’ attention. Their heads swivelled over to her, a look in their eyes that made her feel like a rabbit amongst foxes. The woman, with a large wolfhound by her side, stood from her chair, giving her a warm smile. The moment she opened her mouth to speak, the dream _shifted_.   
Edea found herself being whisked away by a flurry of black and flash of teeth, the loud tromping of hooves against bracken, the screeching of beings she couldn’t understand and the howling of wolves filling her ears. She tried to look around, to find who or what was carrying her, but all she could see was a swirling darkness or the blur of trees and snow.   
_You’ll not have her!_ The something said, but Edea didn’t hear it speak. Craning her head around, she glimpsed an open passage in the thicket of trees.   
She tried to speak, to tell the something that _safety was just within reach!_ , but her throat was raw from the cold, and all she could manage was a painful croaking sound.   
“It’s alright, child.” The something soothed, leaping over a fallen tree. “They shan’t take you.”   
_What? What does that even mean?!_

“Edea?! Edea, wake up!” A voice, panicked and shrill, cried. Edea felt her body being shaken, and she managed to crack open an eye to blearily stare up at the one who had woken her.   
“A-Agnès…?” She croaked, voice heavy from sleep.   
“Oh, thank goodness!” The Vestal breathed, Airy perched on her shoulder. “You wouldn’t wake up, and I was worried there was something wrong!”   
Now fully awake, Edea sat up.   
“What do you mean? I feel fine.”   
“You just… wouldn’t wake up. I tried calling to you, but that didn’t work, and Airy tried to wake you, too, but you didn’t respond.” Agnès looked anxious, fidgeting with a blue pendant around her neck. “I know you’re a rather heavy sleeper, but that was unusual, even for you.”   
“I’m fine, Agnès. I was just exhausted from yesterday, is all. I’ll be back to normal in no time!” She flashed her a grin, which coaxed a small smile from the Vestal.   
“Well, if you say so.” Agnès then perked up. “Oh, I forgot to mention, Tiz bought some supplies yesterday, and he’s making us all a breakfast.”   
Edea’s grin grew wider at the promise of food.   
“Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go!” Practically leaping out of bed, Edea quickly changed into her Freelancer garb, tamed the lion’s mane she called hair (complete with her signature bow), and attached her “snack bag”, as Ringabel had taken to calling it, to her belt. As soon as she was done, she was out the door, leaving a rather bemused Vestal and fairy behind.

Ancheim was remarkably active for a city under duress. Children, although disappointed they couldn’t fly their kites, happily ran through the streets, playing little games they had imagined, and the merchants were loud and proud when it came to advertising their wares. The elderly were content to sit in the shade and share stories with anyone who cared to listen, and women gossipped as they did their morning routines.   
Idly chewing the amazing breakfast Tiz had made her (pancakes practically drowning in syrup, topped off with a small bowl of fruit for a side), Edea wondered what the Shade would eat. True, it had a noticeable appetite for anything human, but she was curious as to whether it ate anything else; even apex predators changed their diet every now and then, after all. Putting aside a few pieces of fruit for herself, Edea quietly slipped some apple and peach slices, and cherries into her snack bag. The next time she ran into the Shade (or when it showed itself to her, she didn’t mind which, provided it didn’t kill anyone), she would present the fruit to it. Hopefully, it wouldn’t see her offering as offensive; the last thing she needed was for a stupidly powerful creature mad at her.   
Quite content with her planned offering, Edea allowed herself to observe her travelling companions. Agnès had a breakfast consisting of fruit and nuts, which she explained to be what she ate before the Temple of Wind had succumbed to darkness, Tiz having a simple porridge with fruit, and Ringabel subsisting on a very plain oat bar and a cup of black coffee. Edea hadn’t a clue how the amnesiac could drink the stuff, but it stopped him from running his mouth, so she wasn’t going to complain. Airy sat by Agnès’ arm, and quite happily ate chunks of fruit that had been cut into small pieces, as even a small apple seemed giant in comparison to her.

The group finished their breakfasts before heading into town. Although Tiz had bought food provisions, they hadn’t the time to buy any weapons or armour they might need when they first got there. Edea quite happily searched for weapons, accompanied by Ringabel (of course), whilst Agnès and Tiz looked at what armour was on offer.   
It was when she was inspected a rather nice-looking scimitar when she heard them. A pair of guards, undoubtedly the king’s, were chatting to each other. That wasn’t unusual, but the topic of their conversation was.   
“Is it just me, or is the king acting rather… _odd_ today?” The first one asked, sounding worried.   
The second guard hummed in thought.   
“Well, he _was_ being rather twitchy this morning. Kept on muttering something about his stuff moving around.” As the two guards passed her, Edea found her curiosity piqued.   
_The king, going mad? Sounds like he’s not as stable as I thought he was._ She wanted to go after them, to listen in on their conversation, but she had more pressing matters at hand. 

It didn’t take long for the party to regroup, Edea and Ringabel having grabbed a quick lunch at a café, and then they were off. As they walked, Ringabel regaled them with a legend he had heard from an old man (at what point he had managed to speak with the man Edea didn’t know, but the story was too good to interrupt) about a two-headed beast called ‘Orthros’.   
“ _Orthros_?” Agnès exclaimed.   
“Yes. Do you know of it?” Ringabel replied, turning to the surprised Vestal.   
“I do. It’s a creature mentioned in the Crystalist Scriptures, and is regarded as the “Bringer of Doom”.” She explained, Airy nodding in agreement from where she fluttered beside her.   
“Do you know anything about it?” Edea added, looking expectantly at Agnès.   
“Unfortunately, I don’t.” Agnès admitted. “The Scriptures don’t tell much, aside from it being an ill omen.”  
Edea gave her a quick nod, showing she understood, before concentrating on not tripping over sand dunes.   
They were heading south, and the sun was heavy against their backs. Fortunately for them, they didn’t run into too many monsters, but Agnès did comment on how odd it was.   
“Usually the desert’s rather active, even if it’s only with snakes and scorpions.” She had explained when asked, looking around nervously. Edea understood why, of course; the closer they got to the Temple, the heavier the air seemed to become, as if something was waiting in the shadows, ready to pounce. Regardless of their feelings on the matter, they pressed on, lest the sun sap all of their strength. 

The Temple of Wind came into view after about half a day’s worth of travelling. It was a large spire that seemed to emerge from the sand, its pale stonework glaring against the sun. As they came closer, Agnès froze. Airy, she noticed, had gone very still, and was now frozen in midair, just beside Agnès’ shoulder. Something was wrong. Very, _very_ wrong. And then she knew why. It was a sign that something lurked within the Temple, something that shouldn’t be there.

 

The wind was howling…

 


	9. A Tainted Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had once been a place for worship, but now it was nothing more than a den for the beasts that stalked its halls.

9 - A Tainted Place

The Temple of Wind would have been beautiful, once. Now it was nothing more than a hollow shell of itself, a place festering in darkness and its sacred grounds tainted from where monsters walked. Even inside the temple, the wind howled, its melody like the baying of hunting dogs.    
The temple had been torn apart. Proud columns were turned to rubble, deep gouges devouring the halls. The windows, which Agnès had said would give a soft glow to the temple’s interior in the morning, showed nothing but darkness. Sounds echoed through the savaged halls, the mechanical thumping of a gargoyle as it moved, the eerie whistling of an Aero Lantern… The Temple of Wind, once a sacred place, was little more than a nest for monsters now. 

Agnès looked ready to cry, and Edea didn’t blame her. The temple had been Agnès’ home, once, and seeing it reduced to such a wretched state would be understandably heartbreaking for the Vestal. Airy, usually the one to pester Agnès into hurrying up to the Crystal, was clearly respecting the Vestal and her need to grieve for what was once her home, as she now hovered silently in front of the group, her soft light chasing away any monster that dared to come near.   
“Come on, Agnès.” The fairy said, gently, shaking Agnès out of her stupor. “Let’s get to the Crystal.”    
“Y-yes. Of course.” Agnès replied, her voice shaking. 

Although Airy’s light had driven away most of the monsters, it didn’t stop them from  _ watching _ . The Aero Lanterns were the only things there that dared to come close, but even then they remained well out of melee or spell range. It made Edea’s skin crawl. Monsters didn’t act like that, not unless they were curious about something. She’d seen it once before, when a pack of silver wolves had surrounded one of the Eternian officers; they didn’t attack him, instead sniffing him and yapping or whining amongst each other. After a period of apparent deliberation, the pack had quietly left, leaving the officer untouched. It had unsettled her then, seeing monsters behave so abnormally, and it unsettled her now, Aero Lanterns and gargoyles expressing curiosity amongst themselves, and the expressionless golems silently watching from the end of the hallway. It was clear the rest of the group were on edge, too. Ringabel had taken a swing at an Aero Lantern that had strayed too close, an unusually aggressive move for him, and Tiz was practically vibrating with magic. Agnès was silent, her posture rigid as she walked, eyes hard and her lips drawn into a firm line. Airy fluttered ahead of them, glaring at anything that came too close for her liking, her light a beacon within the darkness that smothered the temple. 

They had to travel to the upper floors of the temple, much to Agnès’ unease. The ground floor was already unsettling, and Edea had a sick feeling in her stomach that told her the upper floors would be even worse. With a shaky sigh, she grasped Agnès’ wrist, for the Vestal had frozen at the foot of the stairs, and gently tugged her along beside her.    
“It’ll be okay.” She reassured, despite being on edge just as much as Agnès. “We’re with you.”    
Agnès made no effort to reply, not that Edea expected her to, and continued to walk stiffly beside her, seemingly oblivious to the presence of Edea’s hand on her wrist. 

The upper floors, unlike the ground floor, were completely silent. Edea would normally be grateful for this, as it signified a lack of monsters in the area, but here, in the temple, it just felt  _ off _ . Winding through ruined hallways and ducking under collapsed beams, the party encountered nothing that could do them harm. The only interesting thing there was a strange, owl-like humanoid dressed in robes, who gave them a withering look, claiming they “lack the necessary qualifications”, and turned its attention to the thick tome it carried, clearly dismissing them.    
If the way her brows were drawn together were any indication, Agnès could sense something the rest of them couldn’t.    
“What the matter, Agnès?” Airy asked from her position on Agnès’ shoulder, having perched there when it was clear she didn’t need to ward anything off in the upper levels.    
“The Crystal. I can… sense it.” Agnès replied, frowning. “It’s very weak, and is fading even now, but enough energy is there for me to pick up on it.”    
“Do you think there’s anything we can do for it?” Tiz asked.    
Agnès shrugged.    
“I don’t know. I’ll have to see what state it’s in when we arrive at the altar.” Tiz gave her an understanding nod. Being a Vestal, Agnès had a unique, almost intimate, connection to the Crystal that only another Vestal could understand, but Edea understood the feeling of helplessness in uncertainty. She’d faced it many times before due to her mother’s shaky health, and just as many times she’d feared she would be without her mother; she wondered if Agnès felt something similar in regards to the Crystal’s darkening. 

Curiously, it was the  _ lack _ of anything malicious that sent Edea into a silent fit of paranoia; she was used to the wilds of Eternia, with its howling blizzards and monsters that would and could kill you with ease. The silence was driving her crazy, and Ringabel seemed to have picked up on it, as he was now walking by her side, wearing the Knight Asterisk.    
“You’re awfully tense, my dear.” He said, clearly in an attempt to start a conversation.    
Edea gave a grunt in reply, her eyes darting around the ruined temple. Behind her, she heard something move. Ise-no-Kami was unsheathed in record time, ready to cut down whatever thought it could sneak up on her. The scent that greeted her was unmistakable.    
Blood-soaked pine, accompanied by a soft chill that nipped at her cheeks.    
The Shade was near. 

Lowering her weapon, Edea glared into the yawning blackness. Somewhere within it lurked the Shade; it was simply a matter of time before it revealed itself. To her right, she could hear a faint shuffling, but in the corner of her left eye, the shadows shifted. With a frown, Edea got herself into a battle-ready stance, Ringabel, although clearly confused, followed suit.    
“I know you’re in there, so come out.” She hissed, not at all pleased with whatever game it was playing. The darkness emitted a chattering sound in reply, and two red orbs winked into existence.    
There was a gasp from Ringabel, but Edea didn’t waver.    
“ _ What _ ?” Edea snapped, her gaze not once moving from the red orbs.    
“There’s nothing but darkness! I can’t see Tiz or Agnès at all!”    
“Is this some kind of  _ game _ to you?” She spat at the shadows. From the darkness, a strange, laugh-like sound emerged, which set Edea’s blood to boil. With a hiss, she ground out,  “ _ Bastard _ .”    
The sound continued, louder this time, and from the shadows the pale snout of a skull emerged. At first, Edea believed it to be the Shade, but then she noticed: the teeth were too flat, and the sockets too far apart. Above her head, branch-like protrusions reached outwards, as though attempting to grasp at something. Its left eye socket had cracks branching from it, like a large scar. This was not the Shade. This was something far more dangerous than her unusual protector, and far more alien. 

The  _ thing _ laughed again, its head, a deer skull, emerging from the shadows. From the back of the skull, and hanging across part of its face, was a long mane of dark green hair. Hanging from its antlers, trinkets glittered in the dim light. Edea hissed quietly, glaring at the creature.    
“What do you want?” She asked. If its laughter was any indication, this thing was at least capable of understanding what she was saying.    
It replied with a low hum, and Ringabel let out a choking sound.    
“Edea…” He began, his face deathly pale and looking like he was about to vomit. “I don’t… I don’t think we should stay here…”    
“Neither do I, but we need to convince this thing to let us go.” She whispered back, still staring into the creature’s sockets.    
“Curious. Most curious.” It spoke. Its voice was a deep baritone, but was remarkably calming to listen to. To Edea’s confusion, its mouth did not move when it spoke.    
“What’s curious?” She asked, Ise-no-Kami positioned to strike.    
“Most go mad when they see me like this, but you? You’re acting like I’m a nuisance.” It let out a laugh. “Yes, this is  _ indeed _ most curious.”    
Edea scowled at the creature.    
“And why are you here, exactly?”    
“To keep an eye on you.” At Edea’s frown, it elaborated, “I was asked to make myself known to you, and to protect you.” If it were physically possible of doing so, Edea was almost certain it would be giving her a rather smug smirk. “You might even find that I can turn up in the most  _ unexpected _ of ways.” 

Edea’s eyes widened with realisation.    
“Shade…?” She murmured. It nodded in reply, jangling the trinkets that hung from its antlers. Looking closely at what hung there, Edea could see an unmistakable chunk of orange rock that seemed to radiate magic. “Is that an Asterisk?”    
“What, this?” It tilted its head, lowering its antlers enough for her to closely inspect the baubles that hung from them. “I think you’ll find this to be one of the more dangerous ones.”    
“And which one would it be?”    
“The Spell Fencer Asterisk.” Edea gave it a confused look. “It renders you capable of enchanting your weapons with magic; in the wrong hands, it’s a force of wanton destruction.”    
“May I ask why you happen to have it, then?” Ringabel piped up from beside her. He was trembling, but he no longer looked ready to vomit.    
The creature she now knew to be the Shade let out a hum.    
“Why  _ don’t _ I have it?” It countered, seemingly amused. Ringabel sputtered and floundered for a few seconds, before replying with,    
“A fair point.” Sheathing his weapon, he put his hands on his hips. “Now, my main question is why are you protecting Edea? As far as I can tell, you have no real reason to.”    
The Shade let out a soft trill, its head returning to its original position.    
“Because I was asked to.”   
“By…?” Edea pressed, having sheathed Ise-no-Kami as well.    
“Someone.” It said, matter of factly. Edea puffed out her cheeks irritably.    
“I think I preferred it when you didn’t speak.”    
“That’s just your opinion, which has little effect on what I do.” It replied, sounding somewhat smug. Edea resisted the urge to punch its jaw, so settled for stubbornly jutting out her chin instead.    
“Why are you here in the temple?” She asked with a frown, quickly changing the topic.    
“Slaying monsters.” Well, that explained why it was so quiet on this floor.    
“Edea, don’t you think we should get back to the others?” Ringabel asked, eyes darting from the Shade to the darkness behind them.    
“I think that’d be wise; they’re probably worried sick.”    
“In that case, I’ll give you a hand.” The Shade added, retreating partially into the darkness that obscured most of its body. “Just keep walking, ignore anything odd you might hear, and you’ll eventually find your way to them.”    
Edea gave a nod in reply, and the Shade vanished into the blackness. 

The darkness was all-encompassing, and seemingly never ending; no matter how long the two walked, they didn’t come any closer to finding their way to Agnès and Tiz. By this point, Edea would find Airy to be a welcome face, as much as she disliked her. The familiar crunch of pine needles as she walked was soothing, as was its scent, but the cloyingly sweet scent of blood that accompanied it made her want to gag. There was a shuffling sound from somewhere within the blackness, accompanied by the soft clacking of claws. Edea swallowed nervously.   
_Ignore it. Listen to the Shade, and just_ ignore it _._   
A snuffling sound, like a dog, sounded from behind her, and it took all of her willpower to not turn around. Something brushed against her arm, which she quickly snatched away. Whatever had brushed against her let out a pathetic whine, sounding suspiciously like a kicked pup.   
Ringabel let out a squawk and ducked, as a loud flapping reverberated above them, accompanied by the loud crowing and screeching of an unseen bird.   
“W-we need to get out of here, _now_.” He ground out, shielding his face as whatever lurked in the darkness dove at him, its unseen claws screeching against his metal armour.   
Edea wanted to nod, but had a feeling that sudden movement would simply agitate the creatures, so settled for giving him a hum in reply.   
“Ready…?” Edea prepared herself for a sprint, Ringabel doing the same… and then the howling began. 

The baying of dogs followed them no matter how quickly they ran, accompanied by the screeches of what Ringabel identified as vultures, and the loud calls of crows. The thundering of hooves were a few feet away, but Edea feared her legs would give out before they could escape them.    
The blackness swirled around them as they fled, snagging at their clothing and running itself through their hair.    
An unseen dog snapped at Ringabel’s heels, and he let out a startled squawk, spurring him into a faster sprint.    
“R-Ringabel!” Edea exclaimed; despite wearing the heavy Knight armour, he was still remarkably fast, and Edea found herself lagging behind.    
“Hurry up, Edea!” He yelled in reply, his voice shrill with panic.    
Her legs screamed in protest, her chest heaving, but she had to get away. A loud neighing sounded behind her, accompanied by a crescendo of baying from unseen hounds. Something warm and wet found its way on her arm, and with a panicked scream she swung out at it, her fist meeting fur and bone, a loud yelp and a thump. She didn’t dwell on what she had just struck, even as her body screamed in pain as she fled. She could no longer see Ringabel, but the sound of metal boots on pine needles told her he was safe, for now. 

It had gotten very cold, even though her cheeks were flushed from running.    
_ How much longer…? _ She wondered, the thundering of hooves reverberating through her skull. The piercing screech of a vulture made her wince, but she continued to run, even as the sound of a panting beast approached from the right.    
Her feet crunched against snow, and her breath looked like a fine cloud. The darkness now had a soft mist swirling through it, and it made it far more difficult to tell where she was. Was she still in the temple? Was she even in Luxendarc anymore?    
The mist began to thicken, clinging to her clothes and hair, and the sounds of the beasts grew fainter… 

With a gasp, she fell forwards, and onto a hard stone floor. Blinking, she furiously rubbed at her eyes. The temple. She was back in the Temple of Wind. In front of her a gargoyle, mechanical yet somehow capable of curiosity, watched from its spot in a surviving alcove. Standing up on shaky legs, she took in her surroundings. From what she could tell, she was back on the ground floor, if the large amount of rubble in the centre of the hall and the presence of a gargoyle was any indication.    
_ But where is Ringabel? And Agnès and TIz? Hell, where’s  _ Airy _? _ Desperately looking around, she let out a relieved sigh at the sight of a soft blue light. Her friends were nearby.    
“Tiz! Agnès!” She exclaimed as she rounded the corner, her companions all wearing surprised expressions. Beside them stood a very relieved Ringabel, who looked ready to pull her into a hug and not let go.    
“Edea?” Agnès said, her eyes wide. “Are you alright? You and Ringabel vanished in the upper floors.”    
“I’m fine, Agnès.” She replied with a smile. “We just got a little bit lost, is all.”    
Ringabel gave a nod in agreement when the others turned to him for confirmation.    
“The upper floors were rather… warped.” Was his (admittedly rather weak) explanation, but the others accepted it without complaint.    
“How close are we to the altar, Agnès?” Edea asked, changing the subject.    
“Not far now. It’s at the back of this hall.” With that, they set off at a brisk pace to the altar. 

The Crystal of Wind was much bigger than Edea ever realised. Housed in a large circular chamber, undoubtedly the spire that could be seen in the desert, the Crystal towered over them. Edea had heard stories of the Crystals, of their divine light that brought blessings to Luxendarc, but now it was smothered in a thick layer of muck that blanketed whatever light Agnès had sensed before. Leading up to it was a bridge, and a set of steps that led to an altar the Vestal would pray upon. 

“Oh, no…” Agnès breathed, her hands clasped over her mouth. “The Crystal… I can’t sense it anymore.”    
Airy was fluttering around the Crystal, most likely trying to find any weakness in the smothering dark that clung to it. After a few minutes, she headed back over to their group.    
“There’s only one thing we can do for it: the Rite of Awakening.” She announced. Agnès worried at her bottom lip, whilst the rest of them gave the cryst-fairy a confused look.    
“The… Rite of Awakening?” Tiz parroted, utterly lost.    
“It’s an ancient ritual used to revitalise a Crystal that has lost its light; it does so by calling upon the prayers of past Vestals.” Agnès explained.    
“But it’s also incredibly dangerous!” Airy added. “You’re channeling all of that pent up energy and releasing it in a single moment! If you’re not careful, you could hurt yourself or destroy the Crystal!”    
“So what do we do now?” Tiz asked.    
“First I need to find my Vestal garb. They’re made from a sacred thread that allows me to attune myself to the Crystal.” Agnès replied.    
“Then what are we waiting for?” Airy pressed. “We need to go now!”    
“Yes, yes. I know, Airy.” 

Agnès tried to not look heartbroken, but even Edea was saddened by the scraps of fabric that should have been the Vestal garb.    
“Oh, no! With the garb in tatters, you can’t do the ritual!” Airy exclaimed, peeking through an obnoxiously large tear in the dress.    
“If it’s any consolation, Agnès, I believe its holey look would look  _ stunning _ on you.” Ringabel chimed, his attempt at a charming grin not quite reaching his eyes.    
Agnès gave him a hard look.    
“Unacceptable.” She said with a huff, turning back to the tattered garb. Letting out a sigh, the Vestal’s body seemed to droop, like a wilting flower. “There is nothing that can be done for it now. It’s beyond repair.”    
“Isn’t there any way to make a new one, maybe?” Tiz asked, trying to make sense of a shredded book. With those words, Agnès’ head perked up.    
“I believe there is!” A smile wormed its way onto her face. “There’s a sage in the Yulyana wood who made the garb for the Mother Vestal; she took me to him as a child, and he’s the one who gave me my pendant.”    
“Then let’s go, Agnès! The world can’t wait for much longer!” Airy butted in.    
“Oh, but I don’t even know if he’s still alive. He’s such an old man, and it was such a long time ago.”    
“But it’s a chance we’ll have to take, Agnès!” The Vestal took a deep breath before nodding.    
“We’ll make for the Yulyana Woods, which are to the south of Florem.” She turned to Ringabel. “Do you know the way there?”    
The amnesiac fished through his bag for D’s Journal, and turned to the appropriate page.    
“I believe I do; it’s a rather isolated forest, separated from Florem by Mount Fragmentum. Due to the presence of a lake there, it should be no issue at all for me to berth the Eschalot.”    
With a new spring in their step, the party began to traverse the Temple of Wind once more to find the mysterious Sage of Yulyana, and pray that he still lived. 


	10. The Desert Oasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The oasis was a place of safety and danger. Who knows what could be encountered by its crisp waters?

He did not like the desert, but he couldn’t say he  _ hated _ it. As hot as the sands were, there was at least some reprieve from the heat when night fell, or if he came across an oasis, like the one he was currently sitting beside. 

It was a welcome sight after the monstrosity formerly known as the Temple of Wind and the burning sands nibbling away at his stamina. Sighing to himself, quite comfortable in the garb given to him by Braev, he listened to the soft sounds coming from the water. He could hear the soft babbling of a gentle current, the fins of fish swishing through the water, and the quiet shuffling of the plants as animals moved amongst them. 

He had had his fill of water; he could go for quite a while without it, even in a desert, so saw no reason to take more than he needed. To do so would be rude to the creatures of the desert, and offending them was something he really didn’t want to do.    
His keen hearing picked up the muted sound of feet and the clumsy tromping of a camel’s hooves. Hunkering down so he would be less likely to be noticed, he watched.    
A traveller and what was likely to be a caravan steadily made their way to the oasis. The camel’s back was burdened with the weight of the cart it pulled, but the traveller, upon catching sight of the crisp water, gently made the mammal come to a stop and relieved it of its burden.    
He didn’t care for what the group were saying to each other, but he  _ was _ interested in what the new group were up to. They had appeared from seemingly nowhere, like phantoms, and were watching the caravan like a pack of coyotes. Something about them was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.    
Most things, he found, were familiar, but seemed obscured by some strange fog in his mind; names sounded alien to him, faces would blend together, places were labyrinths he navigated through instinct alone… most, if not all, were obscured by the mental fog, and it frustrated him to no end. 

The camel, much to his confusion, had completely ignored the water in favour of tromping over to where he hid. The large mammal peered down at him, almost expectantly, and he blinked up at it.    
“... What?” He didn’t know why he had spoken to it. He didn’t even know if it could understand him. The beast let out a grumbling noise and turned its head back to its caravan and owner.    
Slowly, to not startle the creature, he raised up to his full height. Did it want something from him?    
Peering over the camel’s hump, he saw the group of new people accosting the caravan owner.    
“You want me to help?” He asked it, tilting his head. The camel snorted in reply, seizing his cloak in its blunt teeth and tugging sharply on it. He would’ve stumbled if he hadn’t changed his body to shadow, but the sensation was still rather strange.    
Grumbling to himself, he allowed the mammal to tug him closer to the group, who he now knew to be a pack of thieves. And then it clicked. 

He  _ knew _ those thieves. He even recognised some of them. Lightly trilling to the camel, who compliantly released its hold on him, he peered closer at the pack. Yes,  _ yes _ ! He  _ knew _ them! That big one, with the scar on his arm, was Dagger (a rather uncreative name, in his opinion), that little one had been nicknamed Swift, and the one in charge, with a bandana keeping his dark hair out of his face and a bag waiting for stolen loot on his belt was Aquila! But… but where was  _ he _ ? The leader of the thieves? He knew he should be around somewhere, he  _ never _ let good pickings go by.    
Squinting against the sun, he growled to himself, the camel pawing at the ground with a flat hoof. The camel grunted at him again, nudging him with its snout.    
“Oh, what  _ now _ ?” He hissed, flashing his fangs at the beast. Another grunt. Frowning, he turned to the group. The pack of thieves seemed to be arguing amongst each other, and the camel’s owner was nowhere to be seen. He let out an annoyed sigh. “I take it you want me to look after you?” The camel replied by gently nudging his mask, soft noises emerging from its throat. “ _ Fine _ .” 

The camel, which he had dubbed ‘George’ for now, made for remarkably decent company. It was quiet, didn’t ask questions, and seemed perfectly content to leave him alone whilst he tried to figure out where the hell _he_ was. Curled up in the shade of the tree he was originally under (before a certain _someone_ disturbed him), he idly plucked at blades of grass as he thought. George was placidly chewing on the leaves of a bush he (having quite quickly determined this camel was male) had found, lying next to him, and seemingly oblivious to his new ‘owner’ being in quite a predicament.   
Thinking back on it, the thieves seemed to have been arguing about what they were to do with someone they had holed up in their hideout.   
_That doesn’t sound good, actually._ He frowned at the floor, pulling apart a leaf that had fallen onto the back of his hand. _If it’s_ him _, I’ll have to go and get him. If he’s not, well, an easy meal’s always nice._   
He sat in silence for a while, now wondering where on earth the thieves’ hideout actually _was_ , when the sound of countless footsteps filled his ears. George grunted, spat irritably onto the ground, and stood up before toddling into a little alcove made by rocks. From where the footsteps were coming from, the only way the owners would notice the camel was if they came around to where the two were, which was unlikely; he had chosen that particular spot because of the scorpion nest nearby, and the arachnids were smart enough to know he was dangerous. 

The footsteps turned out to belong to the thieves, whose arms no longer carried stolen goods or pilfered money. Aquila was still in charge, it seemed, and  _ he _ (oh, what was his  _ name _ ?!) was nowhere to be found. Again. He was getting rather fed up by this point. It wasn’t that he particularly  _ cared _ for him, but he was  _ his _ , and he looked after what was his, even if it was a moody teenager.    
The thieves were openly squabbling now, and once they had come closer, he could see red stains on the front of Aquila’s shirt.    
_ What on earth did he do? _ He wondered, peering through a thicket of grass. His eyes caught a flash of bright red to his left, and he wasn’t too surprised to find it was Edea and her group; going off of their track record, they seemed to have made an unintentional habit of running into areas he was currently camping out in.    
“C-can we stop for a drink of water?” He heard Tiz ask, the shepherd’s face beet red from the sun. “Our canteen’s almost empty, and I don’t think I’ll last the rest of the trip.”    
“I second that.” Edea wheezed, fanning herself with what appeared to be torn out sheets of paper. 

And so it was that the party of four, plus a rather strange fairy, found themselves at the same oasis as himself, a stubborn camel named George, and a pack of thieves.    
Said thieves had fallen silent, and were likely gauging when it was the best time to mug them.    
There was a niggling feeling in the back of his mind, telling him that Aquila was the reason  _ he _ hadn’t shown up. It’d make sense, after all; from what he remembered, Aquila and  _ him _ tended to come to blows over almost everything, from how the group operated to his presence as hired muscle. It had gotten bad enough that the thieves had effectively split into two factions, one siding with Aquila, and the other, the majority, siding with  _ him _ . 

If they had any intentions of mugging Edea’s little party, he’d step in. He’d strike them down and drag Aquila somewhere private so he could have a talk with him. He was well aware of Aquila’s disliking for him when he was present with the thieves’ band, regarding him as “creepy” or “unnatural”.   
_You’re the one to talk._ He’d mentally snorted upon learning of it. _At least I don’t go around at night breaking into houses uninvited and taking that which doesn’t belong to you._   
Like he expected, the thieves quite quickly approached Edea’s group. The group, to give them some credit, were well prepared to go down fighting, their weapons or fists poised to strike out at any thief who dared to come close. They really didn’t _need_ to, he could take care of them himself, but their resilience to being intimidated by the band made them hesitate enough for him to lung forwards, darting across the water like a serpent, and snag Aquila by the back of his shirt collar. The young male tried to let out a surprised squawk, but he quickly gagged him with a shadowy tendril, and vanished into the mist he created. 

“Where is he?” He hissed, pinning Aquila against the wall by the front of his shirt. His appearance was his human self, garbed in Spell Fencer robes and disguising his gaunt appearance underneath.   
“W-who?!”  
“The boy. The _leader_ of your little band.” The name came rushing back to him. “The _Jackal._ Where. Is. He?”   
“I-I don’t know, Mister Khint! He-he took off ab-” Aquila let out a strangled sound, his (no, his name was _Khint_ , remember?) free hand pressed against the thief’s throat.   
“I know the Jackal well enough to know he wouldn’t pack up and _leave_ the only place of relative safety he has.” Khint let out a growl, letting more of his true nature slip into his performance than he really intended, but if it got him talking, well… The human seemed close to tears, and his face was becoming flushed as he fought for air. Khint released his hold around his throat, but did not let go of his shirt.   
“Th-the spare room! He’s in the spare room!” Aquila squawked, the tears he tried to keep at bay finally flowing down his cheeks. “I-I don’t know what state he’s in, b-”  
“What did you _do_?!” He snarled, fangs and bone flashing in front of the human’s face. He could feel his shadows twisting and writhing, and he could faintly hear the excited baying of the hunger.   
_Not this one. He’s disgusting._   
“I d-didn’t do anything!” The human broke down into terrified sobs. “Oh, _please_ , Mister Khint! I didn’t _mean_ to bang him up that badly! He was trying to toss me out of the band, so I had to teach him a lesson! Surely you of all people understand?! It’s a dog eat dog world out there! I’d never survive by m-”  
“ _Enough._ ” A faint hissing sound reverberated through the room, as though a giant snake lay waiting in the darkness. “I’ve heard all I came for.”   
The human’s eyes seemed to brighten.   
“Y-yeah, so you-you’ll let me go, right? You got what you needed, so you don’t need to keep a hold of me anymore.”   
The human flashed him a smile. _Disgusting._ He wanted to rip off that mouth of his, and break the hands that had hurt what was _his_. But he didn’t.   
“You’re quite right, Aquila.” A wicked smile graced his face. “I _don’t_ need to keep you around anymore.” 


	11. Dark Safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, he had found him. There was nothing to fear here, in this place of safety. ... Right?

Everything had gone to shit. First, that bastard Aquilla decided to try and take over his position as the leader of their band, then the group was split in two by him, and then, to make matters worse, the Chief decided to pack up and _leave_ when the tension between his and that bastard’s group was highest! 

Aquilla clearly thought he couldn’t put up a fight once the Chief was gone, but he didn’t become The Jackal, leader of the thieves, through the exploits of his bodyguard. No, he _earned_ that title, robbing the rich and raiding the sturdiest of caravans. Eventually, he’d effectively become untouchable.  
Or at least, until that _bastard_ got the jump on him. 

Aquilla had left him and another thief trussed up in an abandoned room. There was nothing particularly _valuable_ in there, so stuffing them in there was, as begrudgingly as he might admit it, a smart move.  
The other thief was perhaps the only one in the entire band who was truly loyal to him. Jackal, thanks to his affinity for nicknames, had dubbed him ‘Twitch’ due to his paranoid and, well, _twitchy_ nature. He’d rescued the shorter thief from a much bigger one; he hadn’t a clue why, of course, even if you were to ask him now, but something in him refused to let the little guy get pushed around again. The Jackal had found himself with a little tagalong who eventually proved his worth to the rest of the band by setting up traps that snagged a band of mercenaries out to make a quick buck. Needless to say, The Jackal found himself immensely respecting the little guy, even if his twitchy ramblings _were_ rather annoying. 

Twitch had his back to him. He wanted to call out to him, to ask if he was alright, but it hurt to move his jaw, no thanks to Dagger pummelling his face when he tried to say anything. His hands and feet were bound, rendering him completely helpless, and those dark spots on Twitch’s shirt didn’t look good…  
It hurts. _Everything_ hurts. His right eye had swollen shut, and the bitter taste of blood and the dry needling in his throat made him want to vomit.  
There was muffled shouting outside of the room, the sound of… _something_ , and then silence. The Jackal didn’t know what it was. He didn’t even _care_ by this point.  
_If it puts me out of my misery, then it can fucking well live here for all I care._ His bitter thoughts were punctuated by a rattling cough, and his jaw screamed at the movement.  
“B-boss…?” A weak voice croaked. “Are… are you okay?”  
“W… what d’ you-” He cut himself off with a sharp inhale, his mouth throbbing.  
The sound of clinking metal silenced any response Twitch may have had. The two of them remained quiet, intently listening to the soft sound and trying to determine where it was coming from.  
_Shit._ The Jackal thought, wriggling his bound wrists in an attempt to free them. _We’re fucked if that’s a mercenary or one of those guards from Ancheim._  
There was the distinct _clunk_ of someone activating one of the dust traps set up in the halls, and then there was an irritated screech, which quickly turned into sputtering and coughing.  
_Serves them right._ The Jackal grinned internally, noting on how the clinking had finally stopped. 

Twitch’s breathing didn’t sound good. It was laboured, and rather wet sounding. Wiggling around, Jackal growled to himself. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get free, and Twitch seemed to be getting worse each second.  
“H-hey…” His jaw ached as he spoke, but he didn’t care; he needed to know if the little guy was okay. “T-Twitch. If you…” A wince. “Can hear me, s-say something…”  
The younger thief remained silent. Looking at him, it appeared that he wasn’t breathing anymore, either, and the dark stains on his shirt had turned red once they spread to lighter-coloured fabric.  
_Shit, shit, shit! What do I do?!_  
The door handle rattled. Jackal sucked in a breath through his teeth.  
_Fuck._  

He was shivering. It should be impossible, but he was _shivering_. His breath came out like fine smoke, and he found the ache of his injuries becoming numb.  
The door handle rattled again, and then there was the sound of a lock being undone. The handle turned, and the door opened, its hinges squeaking.  
He didn’t have a clear view of what stood on the other side of the door, but he did notice how unusually _dark_ it was.  
From within that inky blackness, he heard the rustling of fabric and the soft clinking of metal. The Jackal swallowed nervously; his fate was practically sealed by this point. Whoever, or _what_ ever, lay beyond that door probably wasn’t friendly, and there was a good chance his head would be on the chopping block.  
The darkness spread forward, swallowing up the doorframe and blanketing the wall. He wrinkled his nose at the rather _distinct_ scent that seemed to emanate from the mass of black; it was blood mixed with some kind of plant. A strange scent, but somehow familiar… 

A part of the blackness twisted and bubbled, forming a humanoid shape. It melted away, revealing a man he thought he’d never see again.  
“... Chief?”  
The mercenary was staring at him in a way that reminded him of a vulture eyeing up a piece of meat. The front of his robes, usually pristine despite his violent profession, were stained a deep crimson. The scarlet stains splattered across his face and clung to his hair, which, coupled with his unusually pallid and gaunt face, made him look like death.  
_What the hell were you_ doing _, Chief…?_ Jackal wondered, trying to avoid the mercenary’s stare.  
“You’re hurt.” He said. The Jackal flinched; that was the Chief’s voice, yet it wasn’t. The Chief had a deep voice, fitting for such a respected swordsman, but the emotion that came with it was foreign-sounding; the Chief barely showed any emotion, to the point where The Jackal doubted he even had any. To hear what sounded like genuine _concern_ in the man’s voice frightened him for reasons he couldn’t quite place; since when did the Chief _care_ for a thief like him?  
The Chief approached silently, his feet not once making a sound against the floor, the decorations on his robes creating soft clinking noises as he moved.  
He stood above him, seeming much, much taller than he really was. His face was shadowed by the hood he wore, but his eyes seemed aglow with an eerie red light.  
“I took care of him.” The Chief said, seemingly oblivious to the Jackal’s confusion.  
_‘Took care of’? What the hell does he mean?_  
“Don’t worry.” He knelt down beside him, voice unusually soft. His expression was blank, as usual, but The Jackal could’ve sworn he saw the beginnings of a small smile on his face. “You’re safe now.”  
The Chief inspected his bindings, frowned at something, and cut through them with a small blade. At least, he was pretty sure the Chief had cut them with a blade; he couldn’t actually _see_ what the Chief had done due to his sleeves hiding his hands. 

Sitting up, Jackal rubbed his wrists in an attempt to get some feeling back into them, watching Chief inspect Twitch’s disturbingly still body. Being a thief, Jackal was no stranger to death, but to see one of his own potentially bleed to death when he was _right there_ ? That was something he wasn’t comfortable with.  
The Chief stood back up from where he had knelt by the younger thief’s body and turned to him. He shook his head. The Jackal felt himself droop; despite his prickly and antisocial nature, he had come to call Twitch a friend, and now, his only friend was dead.  
“I took care of him.” The Jackal’s head snapped up. “The one who did this. I took care of him.”  
He was speechless. All he could do was give him a nod in thanks.  
“Let’s get you somewhere safe before dealing with those injuries of yours.”  
“Wh-” He was cut off when the shadows that swirled along the wall lunged forward and plunged him into darkness. 

For how long had he been like this? There was nothing but _black_ as far as the eye could see, but he could tell he was lying on something soft, and his ears could make out the sounds of movement somewhere around him. Shuffling around, he could feel the dipping of a mattress and the squeaking of its springs. Where the hell was he?  
“Oh. You’re awake. That’s good.” A voice, which he knew belonged to the Chief, said, relief evident in its tone.  
“Wh-wha…?”  
“Hush. You’ve taken a pretty nasty beating, so just rest, okay? We’ll talk once you’re a bit better.”  
The Jackal wanted to object, to yell and scream at this voice that thought it could just boss him around, but his eyelids suddenly felt heavy, and just before sleep took him, his last thought was that he was going to punch the Chief for this. 

With a groan, The Jackal blinked awake, only to quickly shut his eyes at the light that blared down from above.  
“Oh, sorry about that.” The light dimmed, and The Jackal cracked open an eye. “I thought I’d lowered its intensity, but I suppose not. Light magic was never my speciality, anyway.”  
“Ch-Chief?” Now fully awake, Jackal managed to pull himself up into a sitting position. The Chief was standing beside the bed he was on, his back to him, an orb of Light magic floating in the centre of the ceiling. “Where…?”  
“My La-” The Chief cleared his throat. “My _home_ .”  
The Jackal opted not to comment on the Chief’s little slip-up, so busied himself by taking in the rest of the room.  
It was expansive, far bigger than any room he was used to staying in, and the walls were practically made of books and trinkets. It was well-lit, thanks to the orb that served as a light source, and light bounced from the shiny trinkets on the shelves, dappling the room with specks of colour. The floor was covered in a brown carpet with cream-coloured patterns that he could barely make sense of. On one side of the room was a pair of rather cosy-looking wingback chairs, and a coffee table sat in between them. Beside him was a wooden bedside table, adorned with elaborate carvings in the shape of plants.  
He supposed that this was what amounted to the Chief’s library, but why on earth was there a bed in here?  
The Chief must’ve seen his puzzled expression, as he said, “The rest of the home is currently inaccessible, so I had to bring the bed in here.”  
A rather strange excuse, but The Jackal let it slide. At least the Chief wasn’t going to eat him or anything. 

The Jackal knew that Chief wasn’t human. He’d known ever since he first saw him. It wasn’t a major giveaway, like the wings and tails of those scantily-clad, sex-craving demons, that told him that. It was the more subtle things that clued him into the Chief’s true nature.  
As a thief, The Jackal had many opportunities to observe how people act and move, and everyone, even dancers and the posh folk who thought they were better than anyone else, had some kind of weakness in their movement. The Chief didn’t. His movements were too fluid, too _perfect_ to be human.  
And then there were the strange disappearances. The Chief hadn’t said anything, but The Jackal _knew_ he was the one who made his so-called second ‘family’ disappear. He was possessive, too, in a way humans could barely replicate. Once, he’d seen a thief, rather new to the band, attempt to take something of his. Naturally, it didn’t end well; the Chief had appeared out of seemingly nowhere, snatched his possession back and said _something_ to the thief that left him a trembling wreck whenever the Chief was nearby. 

“So…” The Jackal trailed off. It was _weird_ , being so casual with the mercenary. He was used to the strictly professional relationship between them, not whatever mess _this_ was.  
“Hm?” The Chief turned away from the shelves to regard him. He didn’t know when, but he had changed out of his rather elaborate robes into a more casual outfit. He wore a white, long-sleeved button-up shirt with black trousers and shoes. A silver-coloured brooch was pinned to the front of the shirt, adorned with a purple gem that glinted in the light. The top few buttons of his shirt was undone, and The Jackal could just make out what looked like deep bruising around his throat. His long hair, which fell to just below his shoulder blades, was pulled back into a loose plait and held in place with a silver clasp. His face no longer resembled a skull with skin pulled over it, but he still retained that deathly pallor.  
“Uh, how long am I staying here?” The Jackal blurted out, only to flush at how rude he sounded; normally, he wouldn’t care for manners, but the Chief was always polite, even to unpleasant company, so he felt it necessary to at least _attempt_ to return the favour. “I-I mean, not that I don’t _like_ it here, it’s just…”  
A soft chuckle emerged from the Chief’s throat, much to his surprise.  
“I understand; you’re bored, aren’t you?”  
“Um…”  
“I’d let you explore, but you’re still too beaten up to do much moving, and, like I said, most of my home is still inaccessible.” He tilted his head, regarding the teen in a manner not unlike a magpie studying a shiny bauble. “How about a book?”  
The Jackal scrunched up his face at that, wondering why on earth he’d suggest a book to him. He couldn’t read or write very well, so a full-length book would be useless to him.  
The Chief hummed at his response, long fingers tracing the bound spines of the tomes and books he owned.  
“I could teach you, you know.”  
“M-maybe later, Chief. I’m still pretty tired, y’ know?”  
The Chief nodded, stepping away from the shelves and towards the coffee table and chairs.  
“Food, then? You must be hungry.”  
“No thanks. I’m fine.” As if on cue, his stomach let out a growl, and the Chief’s lips twitched up into the semblance of a smile. “Don’t even say anything, Chief.”  
The mercenary held his hands up in good natured surrender before gathering something up from the table. 

As he came closer, The Jackal realised that Chief was carrying a tray of food.  
“I know you don’t like tea, but the teapot’s for me.” He said, setting the tray down on the bedside table. Looking over the offered food, The Jackal wasn’t _too_ surprised to find an abundance of sweet food on there, as the Chief had a rather notorious sweet tooth, but he had clearly taken the teen’s palate into account and prepared the simple yet efficient meals he was used to.  
“Thanks.” He said, Chief handing him a plate of bread and meat.  
“I’d give you something more elaborate, but I don’t know what you’d like.” The Chief gave an apologetic shrug. “Sorry for that.”  
“Nah, it’s fine, Chief.” He replied, happily digging into his meal; he hadn’t eaten for who knows how long, and he was positively _starving_ ; even such a simple meal was like ambrosia to him.  
“Just don’t eat it too quickly; you’ll be sick else.”  
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He grumbled around a bite, fumbling around for the glass of water on the tray.  
They ate in a rather comfortable silence, Chief quite content with his fancy pastries and fruit, and The Jackal happily munching on the only decent food he’d had in a while.  
“How about a board game?” The Chief asked, suddenly, teacup in hand.  
“What?” The Jackal blinked dumbly at him.  
“Well, you don’t like reading, so perhaps something more hands-on would be to your liking?”  
Setting his glass of water down, he narrowed his eyes at the mercenary. The Chief, in reply, raised a brow at his expression. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He hissed quietly.  
“Looking after you.” The Chief replied, flatly, taking a sip of his tea. “ _Someone_ has to.”  
“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want looking after.”  
“What you want and what you need aren’t necessarily the same thing, Jackal.” He set his cup down and regarded the teen in a manner very similar to a parent disciplining a child, or an owner telling off their pet. “For example, you _want_ to explore, but you _need_ to stay in bed.”  
The Jackal snorted.  
“And why’s that? You put me to sleep for who knows how long.”  
“I did that to stop you from kicking up a fuss when I healed your wounds. Remember what happened the _last time_ I tried to tend to your injuries?”  
The Jackal felt the tips of his ears burn, and his shoulders hunched up as he tried to hide himself in embarrassment; he certainly did _not_ want to remember.  
“My point exactly.” The Jackal ground his teeth at the mercenary’s smug tone, but he knew he was right.  
“Okay, okay. I get the point, Chief.”  
Chief hummed at that, pouring himself another cup of tea out of a teapot that never seemed to run out, no matter how much he drank. Thinking about it, he noted that his glass of water, once empty, would also refill itself.  
_Maybe it’s his magic._ He reasoned. _But I didn’t see him cast any spells. Hm…_  

After their brief spat, the two settled into a rather easy routine. The Chief would check on his wounds and then give him food if he was up to it, disappear for a while, and come back again, usually with supplies, but sometimes with trinkets and baubles or other objects he cared little about.  
Eventually, The Jackal felt he was well enough to start moving around, Chief’s orders be damned, and managed to drag himself out of bed just in time for the Chief to walk through the door.  
“... What are you doing?”  
“Looking around.” His legs had given out from under him, leaving him sprawled on the floor.  
“I don’t think you’ll do much looking around down there, Jackal.”  
He rolled his eyes in reply, grabbing hold of the bedknob and hoisting himself back onto his feet.  
“Why don’t _you_ try being stuck in bed for ages and going for a walk? It ain’t easy.”  
Chief set his supplies down and headed over to a shelf. Running a finger over the books and other trinkets, he settled on a rather dusty-looking box and pulled it out of its place. He brought it over to the coffee table and set it down, wiping the dust off with a cloth and removing the lid and the box’s contents.  
“What’s that, Chief?”  
“Chess.” He replied, helping the teen over to a chair. “I figured that, since you’re clearly better than you were, you’d like to do something to occupy your time.”  
The Jackal stared down at the board, which was an eight-by-eight square composed of smaller, black and white squares, and frowned.  
“This looks weird.”  
“Well you’ve never played before, so it’s understandable.”  
“Have you ever played it?”  
“In the past. A long time ago.”  
“How long ago?”  
“A while.”  
The Jackal knew that was the best answer he was going to get, so settled with studying the pieces. Some looked like castles, and others like horses, but to him, they mostly looked nonsensical.  
“What’s this?” He asked, holding up a narrow white piece with a notch taken out of its oval top.  
“A bishop piece.” The Chief replied. “They can only move diagonally.”  
“... weird.”  
“This one’s a knight, and they move three squares in an L shape.” He explained, pointing to a piece that looked like a horse. Chief picked up an elaborate piece, with a large cross adorning its top. “This is the king, and it can only move one space. It needs to be protected, and one side wins if the other player renders the king trapped and unable to make any other moves without being taken.”  
The information buzzed around The Jackal’s head, but he wasn’t making any sense of it. Knights? Bishops? Diagonally and L-shaped? All of it flew over his head, and he found himself becoming quite frustrated.  
“So, why do people find this _fun_? It looks like a load of bullshit if you ask me.”  
“It’s strategy, Jackal. You need to see what moves you can make, but also plan ahead to try and stop your opponent.”  
“Huh.”   
“Well? Would you like to try it?”  
The Jackal studied Chief’s expression, which was remarkably open for once. He didn’t _seem_ to be planning anything, but the Chief was unpredictable, and could pull off something he’d been planning for who knows how long without him even realising it until later.  
“... Sure.” He said, still somewhat uneasy, and scooped up the black pieces. 

Their game lasted longer than he thought, and soon his stomach was growling at him for food.  
The Chief had clearly anticipated this, as a plate of food appeared on the table, just beside the board.  
“Thanks.” The Jackal said, picking up his plate and biting into a sandwich.  
The Chief’s gaze wandered, and fell onto something on one of the shelves, presumably a clock (but he couldn’t hear one, so what was he looking at?).  
“I’d best get going soon; I need to go run some errands.”  
“Can I come with you?” He asked, hopeful.  
“Not in your condition.”  
The Jackal pouted at him, uncaring at how childish he looked. Chess was pretty interesting, once he got into it, but he wanted to do something _productive_ ! He was getting twitchy just sitting around, and a part of him debated whether swiping one of the Chief’s trinkets just to spite him would be a good idea or not.  
Heaving a sigh, knowing the Chief would not budge on his current decision, Jackal ate in a grumpy silence, sending longing looks to the door in between looking at nothing in particular.  
“I could pick something up for you, if you’d like.”  
“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”  
He heard the Chief hum, and continued to stare blankly at nothing.  
All too soon they had finished their meal, and the game was packed away and he was put back in bed.  
“I won’t be gone long. Behave, yes?” The Chief said, clearly expecting the thief to get up to _something_ when he was gone.  
“I will, I will.” The Jackal replied, false assurance in his voice. What the Chief won’t know won’t kill him, right?  
The Chief seemed satisfied with his answer, and bade him farewell with a small nod. The Jackal pulled a face at his retreating back, which quickly turned into a scowl once he alone.  
“Stupid bastard, thinking he can boss me around!” He grumbled to himself, picking at some loose threads on his clothes. His eyes wandered the seemingly countless shelves along the walls, yet once again they settled on the door.  
_Well, he never said I_ couldn’t _explore, just that I_ shouldn’t _._ He reasoned, internally, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and hoisting himself up on his feet. 

He was unsteady, at first, but his legs were almost back to normal after trudging over to the door, save for a rather nasty cramp in his calf.  
_Note to self: stretch before moving after being stuck in bed for ages._  
Wincing, he reached out a hand and turned the handle. There was a soft _click_ , and the door swung outwards.  
_Weird. I thought the door swung inwards._ He frowned at the door, but quickly shrugged it off as it being one of those fancy ‘double-hinged’ doors he’d seen in the posher houses he’d robbed.  
On feet unused to walking, he peered through the door. The Jackal blinked, flabbergasted, and could only stare. Nothing. There was nothing out there. Nothing but _black_ , anyway. It was thoroughly unnatural, and it made his stomach churn, but he wanted to explore, and explore he would. 

He took a steadying breath, and shakily stepped forward. He jerked back quickly when something brushed against his arm.  
“What the hell?!” He exclaimed, rubbing at his arm. There were no marks left there, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever had touched him hadn’t held the best intentions for him.  
Shuddering, he peered back into the darkness. Still nothing. Straining his eyes and ears, he hoped to hear _something_ , to give him some indication of what lay in the shadows. There was silence, at first, and then he heard it. A soft clacking sound, claws against stone, and the distinct panting of a beast. Swallowing the lump that formed in his throat, The Jackal stepped forwards, hesitantly. The darkness became silent, and he got the distinct impression that he’d just disturbed whatever lay in the darkness.  
_Shit._ A low grumble, a growl, sounded from within the shadows. It came from everywhere and nowhere at once, and it made his head spin. Eyes darting around, he couldn’t pinpoint the creature’s exact location. A deep bark, a bellow for the hunt, and suddenly there was a flash of fangs and slobbering tongues, and he scrambled backwards, his unsteady legs collapsing beneath him.  
" _SHIT!_ ” His eyes squeezed shut, arms thrown over his head to feebly protect himself, terrified tears running down his face. The door slammed shut, rattling and straining against the force of whatever raged behind it, and he managed to convince himself to raise his head to see what happened. 

The Chief stood beside the door, a hand placed firmly upon it, holding it shut. He didn’t look happy.  
“When I tell you to stay put…” He began, his voice like ice. “I _mean it_ , Jackal.”  
The Jackal let his head drop.  
“‘m sorry…”  
The Chief sighed, sounding like a tired parent, and he felt himself being scooped up and gently deposited in the bed.  
“Let’s get you cleaned up first, then we’ll talk.” The Chief said, gesturing to his head.  
“Why? I’m fine.” The Chief raised a brow before trotting over to one of his shelves and picking up a mirror, which he handed to him.  
He paled at what stared back at him.  
His face was bloodied, a large gash oozing blood from his forehead and staining his hair scarlet. His throat was covered in deep bruising, although he didn’t feel it, and, looking down at his arm, he blanched at the bruise, speckled with red in places, that had appeared. It looked like a bite mark.  
“I’m sorry for what they did, I can’t control them at the moment,” the Chief said, gently washing away the blood with a damp cloth, “but I told you stay put for a _reason_ , Jackal.”  
“I… I know…” He felt himself sag, and any energy he once had was long gone. “Can… Can I just go to sleep?”  
“Once you’re cleaned up.” The Chief had moved on from cleaning the wound and was now dressing it with bandages. “I’m no expert at healing magic, but fortunately there’s someone I know who is, and just so happens to owe me a favour.”  
“... and?”  
“So I’ll be taking you to them, to get you properly looked at.” He set the medical supplies down and looked over his handiwork. “Well, it’s not the _best_ , but it’ll do.” Tucking the teen back into bed, acting more like a mother hen than a mercenary, he asked, “How do you feel about a trip to Eternia?” 


End file.
